Picking up the pieces
by DU-muc
Summary: House screws up a case and ends up in jail. While he tries to save what's left of his life Wilson wants to save the fragile friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**I spoilt House too much in my last story with all the Huddy stuff going on. So he' s gonna suffer a little bit more this time.**

**None of the following characters belong to me.  
**

* * *

His four team members starred at him. For the last ten minutes they had a lively discussion until House suddenly paused and put on his typical face that told them he had just found an answer.

Without another word he took his cane and rushed out of his office and right into the elevator.

As usual he burst into Cuddy's office without knocking and interrupted her phone call.

"Need a favor.", he explained leaning with both hands on his cane.

"I'll call you back in a minute.", Cuddy told her dialog partner and hung up.

"You'll never learn to keep quiet for two minutes, will you?", she sighed.

House shrugged. "Why would I? I made all my way downstairs to come here this guy only took his phone. So he can wait for a minute."

"This guy is in Denver. That's why people use phones. To communicate with people out of town."

House took a Vicodin.

"Can we stop this discussion? I have a dying patient upstairs so I'm in a hurry."

"What do you want?", she asked him annoyed.

"I want to prevent that this dying patient is actually dying. So I need your approval for his treatment."

"What do you want to do?", Cuddy wondered.

House tapped his cane on his tip-toe and prevented eye contact with his boss.

"Maybe you shouldn't know too much about it.", he mumbled.

Cuddy shook her head.

"Then I can't give you my approval. I need to know what's going on here."

House rubbed his forehead for a moment.

"It's legal and it's even following protocol."

"Then what's the problem? Tell me!"

"I can't test him. Test would need 24 hours he doesn't have so much time left."

"So?"

"If I'm wrong he will die from the treatment.", House finally admitted.

Cuddy stood up.

"No. You will not do this! Find some prove you are right about your diagnosis. Then treat him."

House rolled his eyes.

"I just told you, there is no time. I can find you some prove and tell his wife and children when they say good bye to him down in the morgue."

"Don't act as if you cared about his family. You just care about your diagnosis!", Cuddy told him.

"At least I care about saving his life. You obviously don't!", he yelled now.

"Shut up, House!", she shouted back.

"I can't just sit here and watch you play your game. I'm responsible here. I can lose my job, the hospital will lose its reputation. These protocols aren't useless. They were made for people like you who are doctors but don't show the responsible behavior that should come with the position."

He raised his eyebrow.

"Do me a favor and tell him that he will die because who love your job too much. Can I come and watch?"

"Get out of here. Go back upstairs and do the test. Make sure he makes the night and then treat him. In other words: Do your job!"

"Sure. You want me to find a cure for cancer while I'm at it?", he snapped and walked to the door.

But before he left he turned around again to face her.

"Trust me, Cuddy. I'm right.", he told her once more. House's voice almost sounded desperately this time.

"I'm sorry, House. I can't let you do it. I need evidence."

He turned around and left.

Cuddy sat down and shook her head. House and his stupid pranks!

* * *

House stood in the clinic and thought about his next move. He glanced over to the pharmacy.

Marco, the pharmacist seemed to be busy with a new load of drugs.

All he needed was one syringe. It wouldn't be enough for a cure but it would show him that he was right. Problem was pharmacy was off limits for all medical stuff. And especially off-limits for House. He had a history of using it as a self-service store.

But obviously it was his lucky day. The phone rang and Marco answered it. It seemed to be very urgent. He hung up grabbed a white bag with some medicine and left the pharmacy.

House didn't hesitate. He limped across the clinic right into the pharmacy and found what he needed within a minute. Before Marco returned House had vanished back in the elevator again.

10 minutes later the content of that syringe was already in the IV line of the patient. Satisfied House left the room and went back to his office ordering Kuttner to monitor the patient for a while. For the head of diagnostic medicine the case was closed. Another patient saved but even more important another puzzle solved. And his short trip downstairs had filled his jacket pockets with red suckers. One of them he unwrapped right now and stuck it into his mouth.

15 minutes later he was done enjoying his success. House's pager went off.

* * *

"Patient in cardiac arrest!" it told him. House got up and limped over to the patient's room as quickly as possible. His team joined him on the way over there. Foreman and Taub supported Kuttner in his desperate try to get the patient's heart back to beating.

House stood in front of the room and watched the scene while Thirteen tried to calm down the family.

"Come on!", House whispered after the 6th time Kuttner shocked the patient's heart. "Come on!", he spoke out loudly the second time.

He was right. He knew he was right about his diagnosis. This couldn't be true! He was so sure he had found the right diagnosis. "Maybe it was an allergic reaction to the medicine.", House thought now.

He didn't spend a single thought about the possible death of the patient or his family that had to observe that dramatic scene. And he definitely didn't waste any thoughts about the possible consequences threatening him for this stunt.

Taub, Foreman and Kuttner gave it another try but eventually Foreman announced time of death. They had lost him. The neurologist came out and approached his boss.

"We couldn't save him. Why would his heart stop? So far it was the only healthy organ left.", he wondered.

House starred at him unbelievingly. Slowly it began to dawn on him. He had screwed it up. He had just killed a patient. And the crying and shocked widow with her two children a few feet away made it even clearer to him. He had just killed a father and husband.

"House?", Foreman asked him now and brought him out of his thoughts.

"Do an autopsy. ", he mumbled and limped away.

* * *

House went back to his office and sat down. He knew what would happen now. He knew she was probably already informed and on her way upstairs.

So he wasn't surprised when Cuddy stepped in his office five minutes later.

First she just stood there and starred at him. He avoided her view and looked down on his desk.

Eventually she sat down.

"What have you done, House?", she interrupted the silence. He didn't react.

"House, did you or did you not steal a syringe from the pharmacy and injected it to your patient against my orders?", she said in an insisting tone.

Again he stayed silent.

"House, say something!", she yelled at him.

He sighed. "I guess I have the right to remain silent."

Cuddy shook her head.

"Oh God, House. I told you so. Why do you think I denied my approval so many times? This had to happen sooner or later! You are not always right and this poor fellow had to prove it."

"It's not proved yet. There could be many reasons why this happened.", House told her but he didn't believe it himself.

"We'll do an autopsy and you can start praying we don't find any unusual drugs in his system. This time you are on your own. I won't protect your ass."

She got up and looked at him. He still focused on his desktop.

"Until we have the results you are suspended. I don't want to see you on hospital grounds. Get out of here, House!"

He nodded and watched her leave his office. He packed his knapsack, grabbed his jacket and his helmet from the conference room.

His team had returned in the meantime but they had no idea what had just happened.

"Where are you going?", Foreman asked him.

"Take good care for our children.", he told his neurologist and left the department.

His team looked after him pretty confused.

* * *

House took his bike for a good ride. Instead of driving home he steered it out of town and drove through the countryside for a while. He tried to get his head clear. But how was that possible? He had not even started to realize what he had done that day.

Finally House arrived at home but before he pulled over he screened the street for a well known silver Volvo. He would rather spend some good money on a hotel room than being forced to listen to a lecture from Wilson.

But the road was clear and so House put off his bike and went inside his apartment. On his way to the kitchen he killed his phone. The answering machine already blinked and indicated two new messages.

But he deleted them immediately. There was nothing he wanted to hear right now.

House got himself his beloved peanut butter sandwich and collapsed on the couch.

Slowly he let the worst thought in his mind develop the emotions that were connected to it. He would lose his job. Actually that was only the second worst problem. They would take away his license they would take away medicine from him.

He searched in his pockets for his Vicodin and brought out the orange bottle.

Too many pills and everything would be over. He could avoid the embarrassment of losing his existence. He wouldn't have to deal with all the morons in the hospital who would throw parties as soon as they could wave him goodbye forever.

House had certainly more than enough pills in his apartment to do the job. A little bit of Scotch would speed it up.

But giving up that easily was not an option for him. Yet!

So instead of committing suicide he got a beer from his fridge and checked what his TiVo provided for him that evening.

* * *

Of course Wilson showed up in that night. He let himself inside with the keys he still had since the time he had moved in with House after divorce number three.

House had passed out on his couch an hour earlier. The oncologist sighed when he saw his sleeping friend. After Cuddy had told him about what had happened he was furious with House eager on driving over to his friend's place and read the riot act to him. But now the oncologist stood there and didn't know what to do. He recognized the empty Scotch bottle. The diagnostician had only opened it two days earlier when they had a nice evening here in the same room. Everything had been alright back then. Only 48 hours had passed but House's life would probably never be the same again.

Wilson realized that House didn't need a lecture since he would get enough of them in the next days. House needed a friend right now.

The oncologist figured that sleep was also something House wouldn't see too much of in future and decided to let him sleep.

He got his buddy a blanket and switched off the TV. Then he removed his coat and lied down on the recliner in the living room and pretty soon he was snoring quietly as well.

* * *

House woke up early the next morning. Sun was only preparing for rising so it was still pretty dark in his living room. For a moment he wondered if this had just been a nightmare. But when he saw his best friend lying on his recliner he knew he had no such luck. The lack of empty pizza cartons or Chinese food boxes showed him that he had not enjoyed a typical evening with Wilson. Which raised a question: What was the oncologist doing on his recliner?

House was not in the mood to find out. He had a headache and he still had the same problems than the night before. His stomach growled reminding him that he had missed dinner. Time to find himself some breakfast. Silently he got dressed found his keys and his jacket. He grabbed his wallet but left the cell phone behind.

But what should he do with his involuntarily day off? Finding himself breakfast kept him busy for half an hour. And then?

House sat on his bike thinking about what to do next. He was only two streets away from the hospital and glanced over at the modern looking orange building. There was no use in wasting his time while there were so many open questions on his mind. He started his bike and headed towards his possible future former working place.

He parked on his usual handicap parking space got his cane of the bike and limped towards the main entrance.

The security guy spotted him immediately and obstructed his passage.

"Dr. House, I can't let you in.", he told him.

"Get out of my way!", House snapped but the guy placed his hand on House's chest and stopped him from entering.

"I'm sorry. My instruction says you are not permitted on hospital grounds. You have to leave."

House shoved of the hand.

"I need to talk to Cuddy.", he explained but the guard shook his head.

"Not on my shift. Leave or I'll call the police."

House starred at him for a moment but finally he stepped back. No need to get deeper in trouble than he already was.

* * *

So he limped back to his bike and sighed when he saw Wilson waiting for him already.

"You left pretty early this morning.", the oncologist said.

"I always do that when I wake up next to an intruder.", House snapped.

Wilson nodded at the hospital.

"You talked to Cuddy?", he asked.

House shook his head.

"Her gorilla wouldn't let me in."

"Well maybe I could talk to her.

House rolled his eyes.

"Can we get this over with? Start your damn lecture already."

Wilson shrugged.

"What do you want me to tell you? That you screwed up? That you put your license on the line again and lost this time? I'm sure you know that already."

House looked surprised.

"Where is Wilson?", he wondered.

Wilson smirked.

"I watched you playing with matches many times. Why should I slap your hand now when you already put the house on fire? I should have interfered way earlier."

House chuckled.

"You're a moron. You had nothing to do with it but still you are blaming yourself for my mistake."

"Excuse me for trying to help you.", Wilson yelled and shook his head.

"I'll talk to her. See what we can save.", he finally said and walked away.

* * *

House settled back at home 20 minutes later.

He didn't move from his couch the entire day until he heard a knock on his door at 7 pm. He had expected Wilson to show up but it was Cuddy.

She looked depressed and House knew this wouldn't mean good news.

"Can I come in?", she asked him. He just nodded and stepped aside to let her inside.

He collapsed on his couch while Cuddy sat down on the piano bench.

"How are you?", she asked him.

"Depends on what you have to say.", he mumbled.

Cuddy looked around. The empty Scotch bottle had found some company through the day and was surrounded by beer bottles. Next to an empty Vicodin bottle she saw a half full one. He was not doing very well.

"We got the autopsy report this afternoon. We found your nice little drug in his blood.", she told him and waited for his reaction.

House tapped his cane on the floor repeatedly.

"Are you in trouble?", he asked and surprised her completely.

"What do you mean?", she wondered.

He looked at her.

"I already kissed my license good-bye. I was wrong and I made a mistake. But it would be a shame if you'd pay the bill for it.", he admitted.

"You didn't kill him, House.", she told him after a while.

"What do you mean? You just told me they found…", she cut him off.

"Yes, we did. They also found a cardiac defect. You were right with your diagnosis but his heart couldn't tolerate the drugs and stopped. Didn't you check out his heart?"

House was amazed. This changed everything. He was right. He had found the right answer. Again.

"His kidneys were shutting down his liver failed his pancreas wasn't looking very promising. Why would I care about his heart?", he told her.

Cuddy nodded. "It was just bad luck, I guess."

She sighed again.

"The family pressed charges against you. I put our lawyer on it."

House chuckled.

"Good thing you keep those 50000 bucks every year for my lawsuits."

Cuddy was nervous. And House realized this wasn't the end of it.

"House, we can't do this anymore. I have enabled you long enough, I have watched you long enough ignoring protocol or coming up with your crazy theories. I don't want to tolerate this any longer.", she paused for a moment before she went on.

"I'm sorry House. But I have to fire you.", she finally told him. Cuddy knew she destroyed something inside him right that moment but she also knew he would never show it.

"I'll get my stuff tomorrow.", he just said and got up.

"Fine.", she mumbled and walked over to the door.

"House, please don't…", but he didn't listen.

"Just get the hell out of here!", he yelled, walked into his bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Cuddy watched him sadly and left eventually.

* * *

**Reviews are welcome and gratefully accepted. :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you guys for your nice reviews.**

* * *

House stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom. He hung his cane on a hook next to his bathtub and leaned heavily on his sink. Damn it!

Maybe he would keep his license but still. The loss of his job pulled the rug out from under him.

But there was something that hurt him even more.

House was not really pleased when Wilson showed up half an hour later.

The diagnostician was playing his piano and watched his buddy stepping in and taking a seat on his couch.

"How are you doing, House?", he asked him.

House kept on playing and ignored the oncologist completely.

"House, are you alright?", Wilson wanted to know now.

House looked up from the keys.

"Sure I am. Everything is just perfect. Now get out of here!"

Wilson sighed.

"Look, I can understand you are upset but don't let it out on me."

House chuckled.

"You know what's funny?", House went on. "When Vogler wanted to kick me out you even quit your own job to protect me although I just refused to give that stupid speech. Today it didn't affect you at all. Turned even out I didn't kill that guy but found the right diagnosis but today you stabbed me in the back. Did Tritter come by and offered you another great deal to protect me from myself or what turned you into Judas once more?"

Wilson just starred at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"The board only could get rid of me when all members vote for it. So either you caught the flu and missed the vote or you voted against me. Thank you very much, Brutus!"

"Look. It wasn't me who came up with this idea. Cuddy was the one….", House didn't let him finish the sentence.

"Cuddy had the guts to show up here and tell me in the face why she fired me. She did not show up this morning promising me to try everything to help me out of this. Now get out before I lose it completely.", House shouted at him.

Wilson made another attempt to explain but the glare House shot him and the threatening way he raised his cane shut him up.

"I'm sorry, House.", he mumbled and left.

* * *

House hit a few more keys but suddenly he shut the piano lid with a loud bang. Even the piano couldn't cheer him up anymore. First his job now his friend.

That was not really his day. This couldn't get any worse so much was sure.

A sudden knock made him startle.

Why? Why did he even get up? Why even bother finding out about his next intruder?

A short look through the spyhole taught him that it could indeed get worse. There outside his door he found two serious looking cops.

"Fantastic.", House whispered. He thought about not opening or just jumping out of his bed room window for a moment.

"Yeah, Greg. You can easily outrun them.", he thought.

Another insisting knock on his door was underlined by a deep voice.

"Dr. House, open up. It's the police."

He obeyed and faced the two officers.

"Sorry. I was in the bathroom. Long distance for a cripple. How can I help you?"

"We need you to answer a few questions.", one of them explained.

"Sure you do. What is it?", House asked them.

Officer one shook his head.

"We need you to come to the precinct with us. And maybe you want to bring along your lawyer, Sir."

House raised an eyebrow.

"Are you arresting me right now?", he wondered.

"Not yet. Just come along please."

House nodded.

"I'll get my keys.", he mumbled and closed the door behind him as soon as he got them.

* * *

An hour later House felt like in a bad movie. A grey filthy room with a table in the middle. He only missed the typical mirror on the wall which could be used to observe any suspects during the interrogation. He had been led into this room by the two cops and was sitting there for half an hour now totally bored.

"What is this here? Lazy cop and lazy cop?", he wondered.

Finally the door opened and two men stepped inside both dressed in dark suits.

"Good evening, Dr. House.", the first greeted him and introduced himself as Detective Miller.

His colleague didn't say anything and just took a seat across from House.

Miller lied down an open file on the table and sat down as well.

"I take it you are the attending physician of Peter S. Elliot?", was his first question.

House nodded. "Actually I was his attending. The doctor patient relationship usually ends when the patient dies."

"Could take a little bit longer when the doctor kills the patient.", were the first words House heard from the other dark suit.

"I didn't kill my patient.", House objected.

"Dr. House, are you sure you don't want to bring in your lawyer into this?", Miller wondered.

House shrugged.

"Don't remember him being at the hospital yesterday. He has no idea what was going on and he has no medical record so I doubt it he could explain to you what went wrong. Plus he charges 400 bucks an hour. I don't need him to tell you what I think."

* * *

"It's your decision, Sir. I got a copy of the autopsy report. What exactly is Marfan syndrome and why did it kill him?"

House chuckled. "You sure you want to ask me this? I could tell you everything to make sure it keeps me out of jail."

The still nameless guy got angry. "Be assured we will check it out. Just answer the questions and skip your comments."

House leaned back and took a deep breath.

"It's a genetic disease messing up with the built up of connective tissues. In this case it must be a mild version since we couldn't see any symptoms that would show us his problem. The symptoms we treated him for were not related to this disorder. Unfortunately it messed up his heart especially the ascending aorta. Since his cardiac vascular system was already weak due to the failed organs and the amount of drugs we treated him with his raised heartbeat led to an aortic aneurysm which ruptured and the guy had not a chance to survive."

"Is it true that you injected him with Cortisol only minutes before his heart stopped?", Miller asked him next.

"Yes, it is.", House mumbled.

"You didn't write it down in his chart."

House shifted a little uncomfortable on his chair.

"Must have forgotten it. Good thing you reminded me. I'll take care of it.", he said eventually.

"You obviously forgot to sign these meds out of the pharmacy, too.", dark suit 2 said.

House glanced at him for a moment.

"It's just steroids. If I had to sign out every single aspirin I prescribe I wouldn't see the end of it."

"Dr. House, these steroids killed a man."

House rolled his eyes.

"Carefully, Greg.", he thought.

"Right.", he spoke out loud. "But it wouldn't have killed him if he had not a genetic disorder."

"Why did you give him the steroids?", Miller asked him now.

"To cure him. It took us some time but finally we figured it out.", House explained.

"So you tested him your diagnosis got confirmed and then you treated him."

House chuckled but didn't say anything.

* * *

"What's so funny?", dark suit 2 snapped.

"Why do you only ask questions you already know the answer of?"

"Best way to find out if you are lying to us.", Miller explained to him.

"Oh sorry. I forgot the part where I took an oath.", House mumbled.

"Suspects don't take oaths, Dr. House."

House cocked his head. That was not good.

"So did you test him before you treated him, Dr. House?"

House didn't answer him and Miller went on.

"Ok, let me sum it up for you. This is the picture we got right now: You found a diagnosis and treated him without any proof and without any knowledge about his genetic disease and this treatment made his heart stop. "

House kept his eyes on the floor.

"Is there anything you want to add, Sir?", Miller asked after a while and House raised his head to meet his eyes.

"I think I want to call my lawyer now.", House mumbled.

* * *

His attorney got him out of there one and a half hours later.

"Make sure they can reach you at any time. Don't leave the city. We'll keep in touch.", he told him before House left.

He waved over a cab and collapsed into the back seat.

"Where do you want to go?", the driver asked him.

House sighed and swallowed a Vicodin.

It was half past ten. Perfect time for getting his stuff from the hospital. This way he could avoid most of the stupid comments and stirring looks of the staff. Rumors would spread around the next day. The fired coward doctor came in the middle of the night to remove his belongings. Like a battered dog with the tail between his legs.

"Princeton Plainsboro teaching hospital.", he told the driver.

* * *

He was surprised when nobody prevented him from entering the hospital this time. He made the way he had made countless times before. In the elevator up to the 4th floor. He paused when he saw the lights on in his former department. The team was obviously busy with a new case.

House vanished back into the elevator and went to his favorite place. The roof.

Here he had pondered so many times about a case. And often enough his epiphany had hit him there. House had also spent hours up there with Wilson or he had used it as a hiding place to avoid the oncologist.

Wilson. He gazed over the city and the pain came back. Not the physical pain in his leg but the pain about the loss of his only real friend.

He stayed on the roof for about an hour before he gave it another try to find his office empty and this time he got lucky.

The team was probably busy with tests and treatments. Hopefully in that order. First the test then the treatment. He had learned that one the hard way the day before.

Now he stood in his office and realized he had no chance to take along everything since he didn't bring a single box.

* * *

He stepped back on the floor where he had just seen the janitor a moment ago working on his night shift. For a moment the diagnostician observed the guy mopping the floor. Could be him pretty soon. The doctor who lost his license making his 8 bucks an hour. He abandoned the thought and walked over to the janitor.

"You got a garbage bag for me?", he asked him.

The guy chuckled. "Got a dead body to dispose, House?"

"Something like that, yeah."

The janitor handed it over and House made it back to his former office.

He looked around. Most of that stuff didn't mean anything to him. Not anymore. He just got his favorite cup. The red one. Nobody but him used that cup. He glanced at the board and the symptoms Foreman had written down. Now he was the one who wasn't allowed to touch the markers any longer. Just once more. Maybe it was a try of making up a mistake, maybe he just had to prove once more that he was still the best diagnostician around. He picked up the black marker and wrote down the diagnosis on the white board. Probably the last one he would ever do.

He shook his head. Had only taken 5 symptoms and 10 seconds to find the solution. Somebody's life would be saved that night and the patient would never know who really did it.

One saved one killed. Shouldn't he be even now?

In fact one killed probably 500 saved so far. Does this matter nothing at all? How was that fair?

He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. House stepped over to the book shelve and found 3 books that mattered to him. The department could keep the rest of them. He already knew their contents anyway. So why carry them around?

He went back in his smaller office to see what else he wanted to take with him.

* * *

He looked at his old small TV and chuckled. Finally it would see the end of it probably. His colleagues had always wondered why he stuck with that old piece of junk.

Suddenly he heard the door open behind him. "Damn it!", he thought and was relieved when he only spotted Foreman.

"Ahm… Hi, House.", the neurologist stuttered and looked confused.

"Don't worry. I'll be out of here in 2 minutes.", House explained.

"No need. It's still your name on the door.", Foreman said.

"I'm sure Cuddy will have it replaced in no time."

Foreman took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry how things worked out."

House shrugged. "Why? You should be glad. You are a department head now."

Foreman rolled his eyes.

"That's not the way I wanted it to happen, House."

House smirked.

"Of course not. You wanted to keep your safety net for as long as possible. Well I have news for you, you have to take the risks from now on."

House looked around once more, took his cane and made his way over to the door.

"You think I'm ready for this?", Foreman asked him suddenly.

House turned around.

"No! You are so not the guy in need for a pep talk, Foreman.", he whined. "Seriously now you ruined it completely."

"House, we've been working together for so long…", House cut him off.

"Right. So if you are still not ready for this you'll never be. It's about time they remove the training wheels."

"You'll stay in town?", Foreman asked him now causing a grin on House's face.

"Don't even think about calling me for a consult!", he wanted to leave but he turned around again.

"Don't worry about what happened. This job is about taking risks. We saved so many guys because we treated instead of testing them first. If you can't handle this pressure you should find another department. But since you just started a relationship with the Huntington's chick I'm pretty sure you'll make it."

"What does she have to do with it?", Foreman wondered.

"She'll be dead in 10 years after a long and cruel time of suffering. Since your mother is dying of Alzheimer's you know how hard this is for relatives and friends to watch. That's what I call taking a risk."

Foreman smiled.

"House, you are so not the guy to give pep talks."

House nodded. "You're right. That's why I'm leaving now. Take care of the white board. Taub is promising but Kuttner is not ready for the marker yet."

* * *

He stuffed the red cup and the magic eightball in his bag together with his books and left the department. Foreman watched him limping over to the elevators. This was so not right. That man was a genius. He could have saved so many more lives.

Foreman shook his head. It would need some time before he would realize that the elder doctor would not return. And it was hard for him to imagine that department without its former head.

He walked over to the conference room to find the patient's file. They had still no clue what was wrong with the woman. The neurologist went through her medical history again searching for the smallest clue they had probably overseen. But he couldn't find anything and glanced at the white board. And there he could read the answer.

That guy was just impossible! The son of a bitch had only needed 2 minutes to save another life.

He called his colleagues to inform them about the possible diagnosis and ordered the test and the treatment. Then he leaned back and thought about this long day.

How the hell should he make it without House?

* * *

**Next chapter will be up tomorrow. Tell me what you think, please.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for your reviews, guys. :-)**

* * *

House stood in front of the elevator. He looked over at Wilson's office. The oncologist was not there he couldn't see any lights inside.

Walking in there and interrupting Wilson while he was busy with his files because House was bored or hungry. Interrupting the oncologist while he talked to a patient to make him join House on the balcony. Sitting on the couch and talking about some drivel while he escaped from Cuddy. House already missed it. The elevator door opened and House stepped inside.

He didn't spread any tears but he felt he was close to it. How the hell was he supposed to make it without his job? That was his only thought on his sad way out of the hospital.

Cuddy had seen him crossing the closed clinic on his way out. She felt terrible. But she had no choice. She couldn't back him up forever. In that moment Cuddy just hated House. She hated him for forcing her into this position. Forcing her to take away the only thing that mattered to him. Forcing her to destroy his life. She hated him because after all those years she had been convinced that there might be a chance for a relationship with him.

Now he was out of the game. He had packed up two or three things from his office and had left. She would never see him again in this place she was convinced of that. Even if he got hit by a bus in front of the door and was nearly dead he would force the paramedics to get him over to Princeton general.

Cuddy went through the patient's file again. She couldn't say how many times she had read it that day. When she had got the autopsy report the day before she had been kind of relieved since it showed that House had not killed the guy. Still she had no choice. He had stolen meds, he had disobeyed a direct order from his boss and he had broken protocol once more. It took the board only ten minutes to discuss the topic. Right after this they had a discussion about the nurse's newest request: New scrubs. Is there anything less important on this planet?

* * *

Once Wilson had vanished the other members didn't think twice about his abrogation.

The oncologist had shown up in her office before the board meeting.

"You can't do that, Cuddy.", the oncologist had begged her. "It was not his fault."

"No, James. It's enough. Yes it was not his fault but still the guy is dead. And next time it could be his fault. I'm not taking that risk any longer. We gave him enough opportunities but House will never learn to follow certain rules. And then it will be our fault as well because we let him do it."

"But we are talking about House. You know he needs this job. Suspend him for a while or find some other punishment but let him keep his job.", Wilson went on.

"You think this is easy for me? I hate this as much as you do but we have to do it. I'm sorry."

Wilson shook his head.

"What if I don't vote for it? I'm a member of that board."

Cuddy sighed. She looked depressed.

"Well, I'm not Vogler. I won't fire you just to fire him. But if you are honest for a moment and if you forget for just a second that he is your friend you'll realize that we are doing the right thing."

"That's the thing about friendships, Cuddy. You can't just forget it for a second. Do what you want. I won't be a part of it. Take me of the board. I'm not interested in that shit anyway.", he had stormed out of her office and not shown up for the board meeting.

* * *

Cuddy focused on the file in front of her again. Now her mood lightened up.

The coroner had found Epinephrine in his blood. The team had given the guy epinephrine during their way of diagnosing him. It had raised his heart beat. Maybe the Cortisol didn't cause the aneurysm. Maybe it was already there as a ticking time bomb when House injected him.

But why wasn't it listed amongst the drugs they had prescribed him? Suddenly the scales fell from her eyes.

"His kidneys were shutting down his liver failed his pancreas wasn't looking very promising. Why would I care about his heart?", House had told her last night.

There was no other possible explanation. House had given it to him together with the steroids to cause a raised heartbeat so the drugs got distributed faster in the system.

Tears showed up in the corner of her eyes. The hospital lawyer was on the case the police was investigating, there was no way they wouldn't find out about this. This case suddenly turned from a simple but tragic accident into a crime. House would lose so much more than just his job.

* * *

House pondered about the exactly same thing back at his place. He stood inside his living room and wondered when the cops would show up again. Next time they wouldn't wait for him to get a coat and his keys. They would treat him as the criminal he had turned into just by trying to save a life.

How could he be that stupid? He looked at the empty bottles on his table. Out of sudden he cleared it with his cane. The bottles flew all across the room banging loudly on the floor and against the wall. The floor was covered in shreds of glass. A very fitting metaphor for his situation. That was his life lying there on his floor. Totally shattered in pieces. It would cost him a lot to get it fixed and still it would never be the same again.

The next victim of his rage attack was his book shelf. His books joined the broken glass on the floor. Expensive rare medical redactions or just the newest medical journal he didn't care. He wouldn't need them anymore anyway. Suddenly he tripped over his heavy edition of "Comprehensive clinical nephrology" and fell down on the floor. He held his leg in pain and rubbed over the thigh.

"God damn it!", he yelled trying to get all his anger out. He hit his fist on his wooden floor again and again not caring about the glass pieces he pushed inside his hand every time he banged it on the floor and kept on shouting. Finally he lied on his stomach his face buried in his bleeding hands and started sobbing.

He hadn't cried in years and had forgotten about the relieving feeling it could provide.

* * *

House had no idea how long he had been lying on his floor in the middle of the mess he had produced himself. He had not heard the key in the lock and startled when he suddenly felt a hand on his back.

He looked up and saw Wilson standing over him with a shocked expression on his face when he gazed around the living room that looked as if a bomb had hit it.

House realized how pathetic he had to appear that moment and got up.

"Get out of here. Leave the key on my desk.", he snapped and shoved some books of his couch to take a seat.

"What happened, House? You are hurt.", Wilson asked him wondering if he should start cleaning up the place or get his friend to the hospital.

House wiped his face with his sleeve.

"A former friend of mine busted me. That's what happened. Good bye!"

Wilson sighed. "I told you I couldn't do anything."

"Right!", House shouted. "It was too hard to vote against my abrogation when it was your turn. I confuse yes and no all the time, too."

"Why would you push the only person that still cares about you out of your life now?", Wilson yelled.

"Because I don't care about you anymore. I get it we are even. I took away the most important thing in your life now you did the same thing to me. Fortunately for me I don't have to mourn a dead girlfriend. I just lose everything in my life."

Wilson got upset. "Don't compare your damn job to Amber. This has nothing to do with it. I didn't inject him with the drugs. You did this all by yourself."

Tired House waved away.

"Just leave, Wilson. Leave and don't come back. I'm done with you."

Wilson didn't know what to do. They had just rebuilt their fragile friendship during the past few months. Wilson didn't want to lose House. House was more in need of help than ever before. How was he supposed to leave right now?

But this was not about helping House anymore. He had to find a way to deal with losing another person.

"Good luck, House!", he mumbled and left the apartment.

House cleaned up his hurt left hand and put a bandage around it. Then he went to bed.

* * *

They were actually quite nice with him. House woke up at half past 11 the next morning. He expected them to show up in the middle of the night but apparently cops liked sleeping late as well.

It came in handy that he had fallen asleep in his clothes. Being dragged to the precinct in his pajamas would have been even more embarrassing.

He took his cane and made the distance from his bedroom to the front door.

House opened up and glared at them. His expression told them he had expected them already.

He stepped back and didn't care whether they would enter or not.

"Gregory House.", one of them started. "We got an arrest warrant for you."

House just shrugged and sunk his head. Suddenly he didn't care. He felt like an observer who watched them stepping inside and taking the last remaining dignity from him.

He heard them saying something about his rights but didn't listen to them. Not the first time he had heard those words. He felt them pushing him against his wall and searching him for whatever they expected on him. His cane was the first thing he lost. The cop leaned it against the wall next to him but with his hands behind his head it was totally out of reach.

While one of the officers cuffed his hands behind his back two of his colleagues stepped inside. They waved another official document under his nose. It was a search warrant for his apartment. A guy who had a history of drug addiction, had been arrested for drug abuse before and had the guts to steal meds from the hospital pharmacy made them suspicious. For a moment House expected Tritter to come in as well. But at least this embarrassment passed him by.

House looked at the mess in his living room and stared at the cop with the search warrant.

"Don't touch my piano and clean up when you are done.", he snapped before he was led out and put on the backseat of a police car.

* * *

**Hey I told you; don't expect a happy ending. Well, maybe a little one. We'll see. **

**I'm still glad about reviews. :-)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Can't say it often enough. Thank you for your reviews! :-)**

* * *

This time he got the big tour through the precinct. House wanted to yell at them. Telling those morons to take those damn handcuffs off since he couldn't run away anyway. Walking without a cane was bad enough but with no chance of leaning on something he groaned every time he put some weight on his right leg. The officer who was grabbing his left arm way too tight was not a big help. But House bit his tongue. Don't piss off a cop. He had learned that one the hard way.

They did the usual stupid picture and took his finger prints. Finally he ended up in the same grey room again but this time his left hand was chained to the chair leg.

Detective Miller kept him waiting for over an hour before he entered with his still nameless friend, dark suit 2.

They settled at the table and Miller opened the file again.

"So Dr. House. Any idea why we are back here?", he asked.

"Well, since you guys work here I think you come here often.", House mumbled.

"Very funny. We went through the autopsy report again. There were traces of Epi in Elliot's blood. When did he get that drug?"

House shrugged.

"No idea.", was his short answer.

Miller stood up and came around the table. He stood next to House and starred down at him.

"That's interesting. The chart doesn't say anything about Epi so we asked your employees. None of them injected Elliot with it and all of them confirmed that you had no personal contact with the patient before you showed up with the Cortisol. Is it possible that you brought a second syringe?"

House felt the gaze but he kept his head down.

"Your lackeys said something about the right to remain silent.", he finally said.

Miller nodded satisfied.

* * *

"Fair enough. You'll spend the night with us and you'll see the custodial judge in the morning. You need something for your leg?"

Before House could answer the door burst open and his attorney showed up.

"Don't say another word, House."

Then he talked to Miller. "Why wasn't I informed about this second interrogation?"

The detective rolled his eyes. "Oh sorry. We couldn't find your number. Feel free to show up at the arraignment tomorrow."

They left and Baker took a seat at the table. He looked at his client and shook his head.

"You and I are supposed to play on the same team, House. Don't make this so hard for me."

House rolled his eyes and focused on the chain that was holding his hand close to the chair.

"I just had a nice chat with the DA. He's going to charge you with negligent homicide and you make it extra easy for him. Together with the high amounts of pills they found in your place again they'll put you away for a long time. What were you thinking?"

House finally looked at him with sad eyes.

"Who cares? I got nothing to lose anyway. If I can't be a doctor I have no use for the world."

The lawyer rolled his eyes.

"You could teach or maybe do some research. Now we have to make sure you stay out of jail."

"Who called you and told you I was here?", House suddenly wondered.

"I just said I talked to the DA. He told me about the arrest warrant."

House was convinced it was Wilson. Another attempt of saving his already busted ass. Wilson had spent much time in front of House's place to get a chance to talk to him so there was a good chance he saw his arrest.

"I need my pills.", House explained now.

"You mean the pills they just confiscated at your place?"

"I'm in pain. You want me to stay sane in this place you better find me some painkillers. Talk to Cuddy, she's still my attending. She'll write me a prescription. Don't tell her I got arrested."

"She probably already knows.", Baker mumbled.

House starred at him. "Wilson called you, didn't he?"

The attorney just shrugged. The door opened and a cop came in.

"Time to go. Gotta find you a nice place for the night."

"It's only 2 pm.", House objected and the cop chuckled.

"Then you got a chance for a long nap."

* * *

He unlocked the handcuff and released the chair leg only to replace it with House's right wrist.

"See you soon, House.", Baker said and watched his client limping away desperately trying to catch up the cop's speed who had once more grabbed his left arm.

Finally he collapsed on the uncomfortable bed in his cell. He was just glad to have both his hands back and about relieving his leg. It hurt like hell but House had no hope to get any Vicodin that day. The last pill he had taken had worn of long ago. House starred at the ceiling and tried to push all the thoughts concerning the incident that brought him here out of his head. But he failed. Starting with the conversation in Cuddy's office until the moment the patient had died the scene repeated in his head over and over ago. Around 6 pm they served him a really disgusting dinner and House was just glad that he had lost his appetite during the last days.

So he spent another couple of hours pondering about his recent situation.

He couldn't tell what time he finally fell asleep since they had taken away his watch together with his belt.

House startled when a loud bang woke him up the next morning.

"Up and at them, doc.", an officer yelled and opened his cell. He threw a bag inside and closed it again. "Someone left this for you. So get ready.", the cop told him and vanished.

House looked at the bag and sighed. It was only 2 feet away but he was sure he couldn't make it. His leg was too bad. He took a deep breath and got up. He supported his leg with his hand as good as possible and reached the bag. Slowly he bent down and picked it up.

As soon as he had reached the bed again the cop showed up again.

"Almost forgot. Your lawyer left these for you last night.", he held out a bottle of Vicodin.

"Late last night?", House asked him snappy. "It's early this morning. See the difference?"

He pushed himself up again to reach his painkillers but the cop pulled them back.

"You got a problem, House?", he asked him.

House cocked his head. Yes he had a fucking problem. More than one actually and this moronic creep pissed him off totally. Damn those stupid bars although they saved him from an additional charge for assault and beating the shit out of a police officer right now.

He shook his head.

"No. Thank you for not waking me up last night.", he managed to say in a half-way serious tone.

The cop bought it and gave him two pills. The orange bottle vanished in the cop's pocket.

* * *

House limped back to the bed and inspected the bag. He found a clean shirt and a jacket. There was even a toothbrush for him. House knew immediately it was Wilson when he found one particular tie on the bottom.

"Worked last time.", said a note pinned to it.

House looked at the clothes he was wearing.

"How about some clean trousers?", he spoke up as if the oncologist could hear him. He got changed and felt ridiculous. A clean ironed shirt with a good looking black shirt together with the red tie on the one side and his worn off sneakers and his wrinkled pair of jeans on the other. Really great. Maybe he could find more decent clothes for the real trial. After all this was only the arraignment.

House sat on his chair next to his attorney while the DA brought up charge after charge against him. Damn it. He was really screwed. He could only hope to go home on bail out to get things organized before they would lock him up. But who would bail out him?

"Dr. House, these are really serious charges. Do you have anything to say about them?", the judge addressed him. For once in his life House obeyed his lawyer and stayed silent.

"Very well. The date for the trial will be announced during the next days. Your attorney will inform you about it. Bail out sum will be 30000 dollars."

"Terrific.", House thought. "And here he comes again with his stupid hand cuffs."

* * *

He was brought back to the holding cell. Baker promised him to show up pretty soon. Took him half an hour to make his way downstairs.

"Dr. Wilson will bail you out.", he informed his client. House rolled his eyes.

"No thank you."

His attorney got upset.

"House, this is not the right time for false pride. Take the offer and get out of here."

"I won't take his money!", House yelled.

"You are a stubborn ass. You'll go to prison, House, Take as much time outside as you can get."

House thought about this. There was enough for him to do. And since Wilson just screwed him over the day before he could pay the prize for it.

"Fine. Do it.", he whispered.

"Good choice, House.", Baker told him and left.

Paperwork took some time but finally he got his belt, his watch, his keys, his pills and most important his cane. They kept his passport though and told him to show up twice a week.

* * *

House stepped out of the building and saw them waiting for him. Cuddy and Wilson. House hung his cane over his left forearm and swallowed a pill. Running away was not an option so he just stood there while they approached him.

"House, how are you doing?", Wilson asked him.

He glared at the oncologist.

"Could we step into that dark alley over there? I just got out of prison and beating you up with my cane in front of those morons is probably one of the things I shouldn't do right now."

He looked at his former boss. "Hey, Cuddy. Could you give me a ride?", he asked in a nicer tone. She looked astonished.

"Ahm, sure. My car is over there.", she pointed at the parking lot. He nodded and walked into that direction. Cuddy looked at Wilson and shrugged. Then she followed him.

"I just paid 30000 bucks for you.", Wilson yelled after him.

House didn't turn around. "Because you're an idiot. I'll write you a check if it makes you happy."

* * *

He sat in the passenger's seat and looked at the passing cars and people. "You shouldn't be so hard on him.", Cuddy broke the silence. He rolled his eyes.

"Maybe I should take the bus.", he grunted.

"He didn't fire you. He even left the board for you. I think you should know this.", Cuddy went on.

"So he made it even easier for you guys to get rid of me.", he chuckled.

She had to stop at a red light and looked at him.

"You should be angry with me. Why do you hate him but not me?"

He smirked. "Maybe I do. But I needed a ride."

She looked annoyed and House sighed.

"I don't hate you. You were my boss so you had no choice."

She pulled over in front of his place and handed him an envelope and his pills.

"Your last paycheck. Don't spend it all on booze, please. You want some company?", she asked him.

He grinned. "You want to make sure I don't spend it on hookers? Well, come on in."

Cuddy shook her head. He was still House.

Eventually he sighed.

* * *

"My place is a mess. Those cops don't tidy up after they are done going through your private stuff. So it will take me some time to clean up."

Finally there eyes met.

"I'm sorry, Cuddy.", he mumbled.

"You are sorry for ruining your career or for killing the patient?", she wondered.

"No. I'm sorry for us. For ruining what we could have had. If I had known this would happen I would have speeded up things and gotten you into bed.", he admitted and wanted to get out of the car but she held him back. Tears showed up in the corner of her eyes.

"House, why were you so stupid?", she asked him.

He smiled. "How long have known me?"

"Too long.", she sighed. "If you need something give me a call."

"When I'm ready for pity sex I'll let you know.", he said and got out.

Cuddy started the car and drove away not knowing whether she should laugh or cry.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Yeah, I know. Mr. House is dead but not in my story. **

**Thanks again for the reviews.**

* * *

Cuddy didn't speak to House during the next two weeks. She tried to call him but he never answered. Most of the time his answering machine told everyone to sod off. Every now and then she brought him his Vicodin but he never opened up. She could hear him play his piano sometimes and was relieved to have a sign of life. She left the pills in his mail box which got harder every time since he didn't empty it anymore. The pills were gone every time she showed up but he obviously stuffed the letters back inside. That drove her nuts.

House didn't tidy up his place the day Cuddy drove him home. The books and shreds of glass were still all over the floor. The content of his desk had joined them. The interior of his wardrobe he found on the bed. Damn cops! There was a good opportunity for his spring cleaning since all his kitchen cabinets were cleared already. He ignored the mess grabbed a beer from his fridge and lied down on the couch. He ripped the envelope open and glanced at the check. Of course Cuddy had added a bonus. Poor guild ridden woman.

Two days later House was done hanging around on his couch. He had run out of beer and peanut butter. Plus he was bored. He would probably have more time on his hand than he wanted very soon. First he took a long shower. Definitely one of the things he would miss the most. A bathroom for himself. After he got dressed he stepped out of his apartment and looked for Wilson's car again. The oncologist had tried to reach House but he had never opened up. Although Wilson still had his key he never used it. But House had seen the silver Volvo during the last days often enough. Wilson was just pathetic. But at the moment the streets were clear and so House got on his bike. First he had an appointment with his lawyer.

* * *

"I tried to call you. Put your phone back on!", Baker ordered him immediately.

"If you had as many stalkers as I do you wouldn't answer the phone.", House told him.

"I got your date for the trial. April 3rd. 2 weeks from now. Make sure you behave yourself until then."

House nodded. "I won't kill another patient. I promise."

"Let's talk about our strategy. You should confess everything."

House raised his eyebrow. "Sounds like a lame strategy. See, what I did was illegal so if I confess they'll send me to jail."

"There's a good chance they send you anyway. Question is how long. A guilty plea full of regret could knock of 2 years.", Baker explained.

"Maybe I should find another lawyer.", House said now.

"Maybe you should defend yourself. Sounds like a good plan. Seriously, House. I won't cry myself to sleep when I lose you as my client."

House was annoyed. The damn attorney was right but the idea of confessing horrified him.

"Tell me what I should tell them.", he finally said. Baker nodded satisfied.

"I see you next week. Now go and play by their rules. You are supposed to show up at the precinct today."

* * *

And so House made his way over to the Princeton PD. He showed them that he was still around and not on his way to the Mexican border although he liked the idea better and better every day.

He got some stuff from the drug store and went back home. This time Wilson was waiting for him. House searched for his keys totally ignoring his former colleague.

"House, can we talk?", Wilson started.

Suddenly House quit his search and held out his hand.

"Give me my key. You don't need it any longer."

Wilson sighed but handed it over.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help you."

Finally House spoke up. "Yeah. Worked great the last time you told me those words. Leave me alone, Wilson. Go away and don't come back. You told me we weren't friends anymore once. Now I'm telling you. It's over."

House didn't wait for an answer. He opened the door and nearly slammed it into the shocked face of the oncologist.

* * *

During the next two weeks House was more active than the 20 years before. As if he was a terminal cancer patient with only few weeks to live he tried to get as much out of it as possible. He went for long rides on his bike, he had long nights with some hookers. He visited the OTB parlor and won much money and he started another poker group. Even pretzels wouldn't bring in Wilson this time. He spent much time playing his piano. But every day he came closer to that damn trial and the mere thought of losing his piano and his bike depressed him.

Losing his freedom was one thing. There were no social contacts he was sad about to lose. Taking away his mind was impossible. Even in an empty small cell he had his knowledge and his senses with him. The only thing they could take away was his free will. Yes, he was afraid to lose his free will. Other people would make the decisions for him which could be satisfying on the one hand since it meant no responsibility but subordinating was something he sucked at. And being the arrogant jerk he was in a correction facility was definitely not appreciated. So he either had to find a way to abandon his ego put his brain on stand-by for some years or he would get into constant trouble and House knew already he would go for option B.

* * *

Two days before the trial House was about to leave his apartment and bumped almost in that couple standing in front of his door.

"Sorry.", he mumbled and wanted to pass them when he finally recognized them.

"You really had no intentions to tell us you are in trouble, right?", his father greeted him.

House sighed. Perfect! Exactly what he needed right now. Thank you again, Wilson. His mother had a sad expression on her face when she grabbed his shoulders and hugged him. Gently he rubbed her back for a moment.

"Hi mum.", he mumbled and enjoyed the hug.

He faced his father. "Dad.", he just said and the older man gave him a slight nod.

"What the hell have you done this time, Greg?", the retired Marine yelled at him.

"Why do you care? You already made up your opinion. Your crippled stupid boy screwed up once more in life and finally he receives his comeuppance for it. Now go and call Wilson so he can tell you the entire story."

House walked away but House senior wouldn't let him go like this.

"Don't you dare just leaving your parents like two strangers. We'll talk about this now!"

House suddenly grinned.

"Maybe there is one good thing about going to prison. It keeps you out of my life. 5 to 10 years, hell maybe I get lucky and you have already bought it when I come out."

Mrs. House gasped after hearing those words. She couldn't believe her son had just said this. Mr. House was shocked too, showed it in a different way though. Without hesitating he slapped his son in the face. It didn't wash the grin out of Greg's face.

"So this is still the only way you know to solve conflicts.", he nodded. "You must be very proud of yourself."

The captain was inflamed with rage. He raised his hand again but this time Blythe House interfered.

"Stop it, John!", she yelled. "Go, go for a walk and calm down."

He starred at her and then back at Greg. He was still smirking. Finally he stormed off without another word.

* * *

House sat down on the steps leading up to his place and his mother joined him.

"Honey, what happened?", she asked him calmly.

"I had a patient who was about to die. So I treated him but he died anyway."

She looked confused.

"But you lost patients before. Not often but it happened. Why would they charge you?"

He rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"Come on, Gregory. Tell me. I'm your mother. Who else could you tell if not me?"

He smiled. "Mum, I'm not 12 anymore. This time I didn't smash our neighbor's window I killed a patient."

His reaction showed him that she was shocked and he went on.

"I didn't really kill him. I had my diagnosis and gave him some meds that made his heart stop."

"And why was it your fault?", she asked him.

"I had no proof of my diagnosis, I stole the meds and I gave him another drug that raised his heart beat."

She shook her head. "Why did you do this?"

"I tried to save his life.", he mumbled starring at his sneakers.

Maybe he wasn't 12 anymore but right now Blythe House saw exactly that boy sitting next to her.

She rubbed his cheek.

"It's going to be alright, Greg.", she mumbled.

He chuckled. This was typical for her mum. She knew as good as he did that it was a lie but she was his mum and so she tried to cheer him up. Suddenly she looked at him.

"When did you smash our neighbor's window?", she asked him.

Now that worked. He burst out laughing. Right, he had cleaned the guy's car once a week for a year to prevent him from telling his parents. His mother had never found out.

* * *

A minute later he got serious again.

"Mum, please don't come to the trial. Just go home with dad."

She shook her head. "I can't do that, Greg."

"Please. It's bad enough already. If you want to support me then stay away."

She looked at her son. He had lost weight. Mothers always recognize it immediately. And his eyes looked so sad. They had still that amazing blue color of course but she missed his usual piercing glance. No matter what had happened usually she had only needed one look into his eyes and was relieved. They showed her there was still strength left. She couldn't see it this time.

"You should shave, Gregory.", she finally mumbled and got up. He stood up as well and she hugged him again and kissed his cheek.

"You made a mistake, Greg. But it doesn't change the fact that you saved so many lives before. You are still a good person."

He forced himself to smile and nodded.

"Don't worry. I'll be ok.", he assured.

He watched her walking away in the same direction his dad had vanished five minutes earlier.

* * *

The following day House had settled everything. He just knew he had a problem since he couldn't take care of certain things. Only one person could help him out.

He took a deep breath before he knocked on Wilson's door. The oncologist looked surprised when he saw him.

"You want to come in?", he asked him but House just held out his hand. This time he handed the key over to his former best friend.

"Can you do me a favor?", he asked.

Wilson nodded and took the key. House turned around and walked away. Wilson had no idea what favor that would be but he was sure House had left a clue back at his place in case he wouldn't return the next day.

"Good luck tomorrow, House.", he said but House showed no reaction at all.

* * *

The next morning House took a cap. Cuddy had offered another ride on a note she had left with his last Vicodin bottle. It was the first time she had heard from him again when he called her to tell her she should not show up at the court. She had promised but he knew she would show up anyway. And of course she was there sitting right next to Wilson in the almost empty court room. He glanced at the jury but kept his head down most of the time. Since his attorney had pleaded guilty in his name the judge gave him the chance to testify right in the beginning. So he explained what had happened. He told them factually and calmly how Cuddy had forbidden the treatment, how he had done it anyway with the meds he had stolen from the pharmacy and how the patient had died.

"Do you regret this?", the judge asked him after he was done.

"I tried to save his life.", House explained.

"But he died. So do you regret the decisions you made?"

House glanced at his lawyer. He would piss him off once more.

"Sir, I take it your position includes lots of responsibility. So did mine. But you got the luxury of time. Imagine a guy comes in and hands you over a file. You got 2 hours to decide. Make the right decision and you send the good guy back home while the bad guy goes to jail. A wrong decision gets the bad guy out while the good guy goes on death row. "

"That's exactly the reason why we take out time, Dr. House.", the judge replied.

"You should be glad you can do that, Sir. I was trying to save a life here and now the guy is dead and for that I'm actually sorry. I was wrong this time not medically but my behavior was."

For this last statement he received a satisfied nod from his lawyer. Maybe a moment too soon.

* * *

"There's one more thing.", House spoke up and the judge let him talk again. For a moment House thought it over but then he went on.

"Dr. Wilson didn't write all those prescriptions. We were friends for a long time so I know his lefty scrappy handwriting like my own. And I had access to his prescription pad all the time."

House didn't know why he was doing it. He just thought it was the right thing to do. Not because he owed Wilson or had to make up for something. Maybe he had already confessed so many things that he took this opportunity to clean out everything. Problem was; this was so not the place to do it. His lawyer shared this opinion.

"House, shut up!", he whispered but House was done anyway.

Wilson couldn't believe it, too. House had just lied to keep him out of trouble. He had turned in his already busted ass once more.

"So you are saying you forged Dr. Wilson's signature to get drugs?", the judge asked him now.

"I had no intention to deal in drugs. It was just for myself.", House answered.

* * *

The DA wanted to make sure that House really got it this time in the following hour. He brought up every piece of dirty laundry he could find in House's past and that was not very hard to do.

Finally the hearing of evidence was done. The jury went to make its decision. House sat outside the courtroom on a bench with a bailiff next to him. He hung his head and played with an elastic band in his hands. Wilson approached him.

"Are you out of your mind, House? Why did you lie to them?", he asked.

The bailiff starred at Wilson and started to listen attentively.

"Who says I was lying?", House mumbled still concentrating on the band in his hands.

"You mean you were forging my signature again?"

That conversation got more interesting for their witness every second.

"I mean that I just made sure you don't join me in jail. So I keep you out of my life. Don't worry. Once more my motive was pure selfishness.", he explained and looked at his watchdog.

"Isn't there a nice cell with a view around out of reach for this guy where I can wait? Feel free to drag me there."

Wilson sighed. "House, please. I just want to help you."

The diagnostician laughed.

* * *

"You can get me out of this? Make sure I can go home tonight and back to work in the morning? That's the only help I can need right now.", he shook his head.

"I just made sure you feel guilty for the next 5 to 10 years. Only pleasure I will have."

"You also made sure they will lock you up for very long time, you fucking moron!", Wilson yelled upset.

House got up and now the guard interfered.

"Sit down!", he told House and turned to Wilson.

"Sir, please step back.", he addressed him in a nicer tone.

Wilson turned around and tried to calm down.

He took a few deep breaths and faced House again.

"Did you forge my signature again, House?", he asked him.

He didn't get his answer. Mr. Baked showed up to accompany his client back to the courtroom. The bailiff didn't leave his side anymore.

* * *

**Reviews are still welcome! :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

House wasn't surprised when he heard his verdict. This jury didn't really like him at all. Of course he was guilty for the negligence murder. He had admitted it himself and there was more than enough evidence to proof it. For the time he got for the pill thing on the other hand he couldn't blame anyone but himself.

5 years 8 months. Thank you very much. Oh wait a second there was more. Wow, he could get parole after half the time. Phew. For a moment he thought he was in trouble.

While the judge still explained his motives for ruining his life completely House didn't listen to him. He has had 2 weeks to prepare for this moment but those were the things you were never ready for.

Damn it. He could be lying on a beach right now. Why did he stay in New Jersey?

Thousands of Mexicans made it over the boarder every year. Couldn't be too hard to go the other direction without a passport.

Well, he had lots of time to think about it now.

Suddenly he heard his name behind him. He turned around and saw Cuddy who was sitting right behind him now.

"I'm so sorry, House.", she whispered holding back her tears again.

Wilson stood in the aisle and looked over with an insecure and uncomfortable expression on his face. He had no idea what to do or say.

"Guess that's justice.", House mumbled and saw her next attempt to prevent crying.

"I just wish we would have had sex. I could remember it in the upcoming 2500 lonely nights.", he smirked. For a moment he saw a smile on her face.

"Take care, House.", she told him when the bailiff pad him on the shoulder and told him to get up.

"Tell me you gonna wait for me.", he mocked her in his faked whining voice.

She shook her head. "You're impossible, House. Please try to stay out of trouble."

He got up and gave her his cane.

"Do me a favor. Take care for this little Greg. The other one has to come with me."

* * *

The bailiff led him out of the courtroom. For a moment House looked at Wilson. The oncologist wasn't sure but he could swear he saw a light nod. But probably it was just his hope playing him a trick. House had ignored him for the past few weeks. He had insulted him and rubbed in his face more than once that he was done with the oncologist. But Wilson was not willing to let him go through this alone. There was not much he could do but he would make sure to do at least this.

So his way led him back to House's apartment. First he emptied the crammed mailbox. Besides the postman Wilson had delivered some letters as well. But House had ignored them together with his bills. Then he stood in front of the door and took a deep breath.

Wilson let himself in and now reality hit him completely. House wouldn't come back and the diagnostician had known this for the entire time. House had not even hoped for a second to stay out of prison and so he did everything to tidy up his life before it was taken away from him. The books were still on the floor. Not wildly distributed but organized in piles this time. The kitchen cabinets were empty except for a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of beer in the fridge. Most of his clothes were gone as well.

On the couch table Wilson found a note.

"Sell everything worth selling. Pay the attorney and everything else until I run out of money."

Next to the note he found a proxy giving Wilson access to all his bank accounts and two envelopes.

One had "poker and OTB" scrawled on it and was filled with banknotes. House had been pretty lucky those two last weeks. At least in gambling. The other envelope held also banknotes. "Sold my bike myself. They would have pulled a fast one on you, pathetic Volvo driver."

Finally he discovered a check for himself over 30000 dollars. The bail out.

"Stubborn ass.", Wilson thought.

* * *

That was it. No personal note for him. House didn't consider Wilson a friend doing him a favor he was just a lackey cleaning up behind him. The only consolation Wilson could find that moment was the fact that House still trusted him. There were thousands of dollars lying on that table he could take the money of his bank account and leave everything behind but House knew he wouldn't do it.

House had already canceled his apartment. The set of keys lied on the table waiting to be picked up by the landlord. Wilson realized that only one was missing. He glanced at the key in his hand. House had closed that door this morning with no intention to return.

Two days earlier Baker had talked to Wilson about the high amount of pills they had found in this place. The attorney needed him to testify that he had prescribed them all. Wilson had agreed; it was the truth. Finally he had asked him about House's chance to stay out of prison. The attorney had told him that there was still a chance for a suspended sentence if House would confess show his honest regret and would bring up an explanation for the pills.

House was right. Wilson felt guilty. He had not done anything just prescribed too many pills for his suffering friend but still he felt guilty. He wasn't the one who went to prison that day but Wilson knew he would be a prisoner as well. House had made that sure and still Wilson couldn't hate his friend.

The key dropped on the floor. Wilson buried his head in his hands and cried. Reality hurt and hope had worn off.

Hope that House never had and Wilson was losing right that moment.

* * *

House's experience with jails didn't go beyond the cells at the local precinct. He had been in death row once but only as a visitor. So he looked pretty lost and confused sitting there together with all the "real bad" guys which arrived at the NJ state prison in Trenton on that day.

Maybe he was about to lose his mind or he just needed more time to realize what was going on since he was about to laugh out loud. This couldn't be possible. He would not spend the next 6 years here. Impossible! This was so not the place for him. Amongst the bunch of convicts arriving today he was the only "fish". The rest of them had spent some time here before and his nice suit and his clean shaven face didn't help him at all.

"Look who we have here. You are a bookkeeper or what?", the guy sitting next to him started. House looked at the "nice" looking estimated 280 pund guy with all the tattoos. Finally he just shrugged and smirked.

The guy chuckled.

"Do that again and you can keep that nice suit on for your funeral.", the guy told him.

"Right.", House mumbled and looked down at his shoes.

The other guys laughed.

"The fish won't make it a week.", one of them yelled causing more laughs amongst them.

"Knock it off, guys!", one of the guards shouted. He held a file in his hand and approached House.

Standing before him he opened the folder and screened the pages.

"Come on, doc. You're next in line.", he said and closed the file.

"Here it comes.", House thought and got up. As soon as he started limping behind the guard the others started their mocking again.

"Oh look at the poor book keeper.", one of them shouted.

"Hey gimp, what's wrong?", another yelled.

"You messed that up yourself, doc?", his former bench neighbor laughed.

The guard wasn't better. He didn't insult him but wasn't very polite.

"Come on. I'd like to get home today.", he said and dragged House behind him not taking care at all for his leg.

"Me, too.", House mumbled trying to prevent a stumple.

He was led into a small room with a table on one side. Another guard waited there for him.

* * *

"Get everything out of your pockets and on that table!", he ordered him.

House brought only out his wallet. It was the last remaining possession he had. Just a few coins, his ID and license. Nothing else. And then there was his Vicodin. He laid the pill bottle down next to his wallet.

"Anything else?", the guard asked him. "We'll find it anyway."

House shook his head.

"Step back against that wall!", he was ordered before the officer approached the table and picked up his pills.

"What is this?", he asked.

"It's right there on the label.", House snapped at him. The guard raised an eyebrow.

"Oh we got ourselves a smart ass today. Lucky us! Listen, nobody cares about your college diploma in here! There are two rules: I ask a question you answer it! I give you an order you obey. Got it?"

House rolled his eyes. "Don't need a college degree for that."

The guard shook his head. "You'll be in trouble in here often."

He browsed through the file again. "5 1/2 years are very long in here. Better change your attitude. You can start right now: What about these pills?"

House smirked. "Hey, I'm just a dumb ass, right? How would I know. But you attended high school so I guess you can read. It's in that file somewhere. I give you a hint. Starts with an "m" and ends with "edical history"."

He knew he should have shut up. He knew he should have obeyed and just answered that moron's question but he still was House so he couldn't.

The guard grabbed him by his collar and pushed him against the wall. A sharp pain ran through his leg.

"You want to spend your first month downstairs in the basement? Keep it coming. Probably saver for you anyway. That big mouth won't make it long in here."

He pressed House harder against the wall. The officer's forearm across House's throat made it hard for him to breath.

"Got anything to say?", he asked him now.

House starred in his eyes. The guard was furious.

"Sorry.", he mumbled. Not good enough for the guy.

"Sorry what?", he went on.

House sighed but he had no choice.

"Sorry, boss."

He earned a satisfied nod and the guard let go of him.

"So, let's talk about these pills.", he went on as if nothing had happened.

House rubbed his thigh while he answered.

"Those are painkillers. I need them for my leg."

The guard nodded. "You'll have to talk to the doctor about that. We can't just distribute drugs amongst the convicts."

He put the wallet and the pills in a big brown envelope.

"Give me your watch.", he said while he wrote down all possessions House brought with him in a list.

This time House obeyed and the watch joined his wallet.

* * *

"Now get undressed.", he ordered House.

Another guard popped his head inside.

"What's taking you so long? The guy is still dressed."

The guard shrugged. "Had to explain the rules to him first.", he replied.

The other man chuckled and vanished. The cop faced him again.

"Why are you not naked yet?", he yelled.

Slowly House loosened his tie. All those years he had hated them. Now he wouldn't see one in a long time and that depressed him right now. He got rid of his shirt and laid it on top of his jacket on the table together with his lucky tie that had screwed him this time. Shoes and socks until he reached his pants. The belt went first and then he hesitated again.

"Damn it, man. Hurry up.", the guard came again.

He couldn't get around it anyway so House dropped his pants.

"Now that looks disgusting.", the guard exclaimed when he saw the scar on his thigh.

His colleague passed the door that moment and came in again.

"What's disgusting?", he wondered. The other man pointed at the leg.

"Look at that."

Now both of them stood there and inspected the damaged part of the thigh.

"Are you done starring at the cripple? I'm freezing.", House told them now.

They exchanged looks before the first one came close again.

"Oh you're cold? Poor you. We are not done undressing yet.", he pointed at his boxers. House closed his eyes and wished himself far, far away.

* * *

God, he should have swallowed all his remaining pills when he had the chance. So he would either be dead by now or just too stoned to remember that embarrassing moment.

Finally the guard nodded to a pile on the table.

"Now get dressed!", he said. This time House didn't hesitate for a second. Itchy underwear, blue jeans white T-shirt and a pale blue shirt. House smirked for a second. Cuddy would have loved the shirt.

"Sets off your eyes.", she had always told him. Ok, the letters DOC on his back and the number on his chest would annoy her a little probably.

Besides the shirt he had worn that morning it was the first one in a long time that was actually ironed. There was some irony in this.

* * *

"Sign here!", the guard told him and held out a pen. His clothes vanished in a grey box together with the brown envelope.

"What is this?", House asked him and glanced at the document.

"It's the list of your property we will storage until you leave."

House checked the list and signed it. He was convinced his remaining 4.34 dollar would have disappeared by the time he would get his wallet back.

The guard shoved a second pile consisting of clothes, bed linen and towels in his arms and signaled him to follow him.

While the rest of the convicts were distributed on the different blocks the guard held House back.

"Oh no. You got an appointment with the doctor first."

House followed the guard through countless floors. Every 15 feet he had to stop and wait while the guard unlocked another door. Each time it cracked loudly behind him reminding him that he was definitely a prisoner now. House had trouble following the officer. It had been a long day for his leg and now he was about to give up. The next time they approached a door he leaned against the wall trying to get as much weight of his right leg as possible. During that attempt he dropped half the pile he was still carrying.

The guard groaned. "Oh great. Well done. Pick it up!", he ordered him.

But House just dropped the rest as well. His back still leaned against the wall he slipped down until he sat there his leg sprawled out and a pain ridden expression on his face.

"What the hell are you doing? Get up!", the guard yelled.

House shook his head.

"So sorry. I told my leg often enough: Stop hurting like hell. But if it doesn't listen to me why would it listen to you?"

"Because I don't give a crap about it. So you better get your ass up before I drag you there by your collar."

House cocked his head. "That would be more comfortable than walking right now."

He watched the guard pull out his nightstick.

"I won't ask you again.", he told him.

House chuckled. "Great idea. Threatening the guy who can't stand up with inflicting more pain."

The guard raised his weapon and House raised his hands to signal his surrender.

* * *

He bit his lip to prevent any groan while he pushed himself up against the wall. He collected the laundry and followed the custodian again. Fortunately they arrived at the infirmary a few moments later.

"Sit down!", the guard told him and pointed at a chair. House got used to it. They tell you what to do. Do it and you have no problems. Don't do it and you'll learn another lesson about hierarchy. Unfortunately that was the class House would fail many times in here.

Right now he was happy for every relief he could get for his leg.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

House could see the doctor treating a flesh wound on the other side of the big room. The guard watched it for a moment, too.

"You are a doctor, right?", he suddenly asked him.

House shook his head.

"No, I'm not."

"But it says so in your file.", the guard went on.

"Then my file is wrong. I was a doctor. But there is a rule. When you kill a patient they take away your stethoscope."

The guard shrugged. "But you still know that shit. That's something."

"Wasted knowledge. I'll never treat a patient again."

"Behave yourself and you are allowed to work. Dr. Norfolk has been looking for help in here for a long time now."

The doctor was done with the stitches and came over. The watchdog explained House's problem and handed over the file. Dr. Norfolk opened it and started reading. He didn't get far.

"You are Dr. House? Gregory House?", he asked immediately.

House rolled his eyes. "Mr. House actually nowadays.", he said.

"You are a genius.", Norfolk went on.

"Obviously not. No genius would ever end up in here.", House mumbled.

"But you…", House cut him off.

"Can we please forget this? Yes I was a doctor a pretty good one but this is over. Now I'm the patient. Your patient at the moment so can we get to the part where you do something about my leg pain?", he yelled.

* * *

The guard put a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, House!", he said. House took a deep breath. He turned around and looked up at the guy.

"Could you just not touch me for let's say 2 minutes? I'm not about to start a killing spree right now.", he snapped.

The guardsman increased the pressure on his shoulder.

"Watch it! Last warning for today. Next time it's the isolation cell for 48 hours. Got it?"

House turned back to the doctor but the guard padded him on the shoulder so he faced him again.

"Didn't you forget something?", he asked him.

House sighed again. That was ridiculous. Stupid moron. Probably had not have good sex for a while.

"Got you, boss. I'll behave myself now."

The custodian nodded and stepped back from him.

* * *

The two doctors started a discussion about the right treatment for his leg. House needed only half a minute to realize that this doctor was a total idiot. But what else would one expect in a state prison. It was easy for him to convince Dr. Moron that Vicodin would be perfect for him since a change of meds provided nasty side effects and more pain.

"I'll give you four of them every day.", Norfolk decided finally.

"Showing up here 4 times a day would be pretty annoying.", House suggested.

"We can leave your pills for each day with the guards on your block.", Norfolk informed him.

House was really desperate for painkillers now but unfortunately he was the only one in the prison who needed those meds. Norfolk had to make a requisition first. They would probably arrive the next day. House groaned. Another night in pain.

"What about the pills I brought along?", he asked the guard but the guy shook his head.

"Those are off-limits now.", he explained.

House shook his head. "This is ridiculous. They'll expire by the time I get them back. Plus, state says I have to stay in here for 5 ½ years. It doesn't say anything about torture. And this is exactly what this is."

The warden looked at Dr. Norfolk who nodded. "This pain must be really hard to bear. Muscle cell death is very painful. You should find this man some pain relief."

"I'll see what I can do.", he said. "First we have to move you into your place. Let's go."

* * *

This time the guard carried the sheets and towels for him allowing House to find as much support on walls and bars as he could get.

"What do you do with paraplegic criminals or guys with only one leg? Do they have to crawl around on the floor all the time?", he asked his watchdog on their way to his block.

"You know we can't give you a cane. You could use it as a weapon and in your case it's highly likely that one of the other convicts will kill you with it sooner or later."

House thought about it for a moment. That was probably true. Still, it was more than annoying.

Wilson spent the rest of the day in House's apartment. It took him a while to recover from his crying fit. Finally he started going through the stuff. The desk was cleaned out except for some documents regarding House's insurances and some old tax papers. House had always complained about the high taxes. Now he could get some of that money back given that he was living on state's cost for a while. Wilson smiled for a moment. House would show them all. He would get back his taxes even if he had to go to prison for them.

His closet was almost empty most of his clothes were gone. House had got ridden of them himself.

The bathroom was cleaned out as well. No soap, no deodorant no towels, nothing. Just one roll of toilet paper.

Finally he got back to the piles of books covering the floor in the living room. House had sorted them and had put notes on them telling Wilson how much he could get for them. Some of the books were worth much money. House never had taken care for himself but his stuff was always in top shape. He had read all those books probably more than once but still they looked like new ones. Except for his rage attack he had never done any harm to them. Same went for his piano.

It was another sharp pain stabbing Wilson's heart. He looked at the instrument. Nothing in this place was more important to House but this instrument. How could he just sell it?

But he had no choice. House had many bills to cover he could need any cent he would find. So Wilson did what House had asked him for. He sold his property. It would keep him busy for a week.

* * *

Together with the guard House arrived eventually at his new home. Block C. He looked around. He had seen that place before. Not in reality though but in those prison movies. That made it once again hard for him to realize that this was not just a bad joke. A long wide floor with cells on both sides. All together three floors combined with iron stair cases. Actually a lot of metal in that place with all the bars and stairs. Concrete and metal that was all he could see. Apart from the ugly light brown floor. Could have been linoleum decades ago.

"Over there.", the custodian guarded him to one of the cells on the ground floor. At least no stairs. First nice thing that had happened to him this day. Good, what a bad day.

He stepped inside after the guard had put down his stuff on the bed. Now he locked the cell up and vanished. House just stood there. He heard the laughs and yells of the other inmates. He heard doors cracking loudly some guards shouted orders around. House closed his eyes. As if he could escape by pretending not to be there. Finally he opened them again. The small window at the rear end of his cell showed him that it was getting dark outside.

So this was it. His first night. The first one of many countless nights he would spend in here. Probably the worst. Hopefully the worst because House felt so messed up right now, horrified, frightened and miserable that he couldn't imagine feeling any worse any time. He spread his arms and could reach both walls of his "new room". For a minute he stayed in that position because it relieved his leg. Of course he could have sat down but he was not ready for it. As if he made a silent agreement and accepted this as soon as he would settle down in this place.

Finally he admitted how pathetic that idea was and sat down on his bed.

* * *

Suddenly his cell opened once more. An elder guard he had not seen so far entered.

"You missed dinner.", he said and put a trey next to him on the bed. "I got your pills for you.", he added and handed him one of his Vicodin.

"First night in jail?", he asked him and House nodded.

"Don't worry. There's just one of those. Tomorrow it'll be the second one."

Charles Stamford had been a guard on this block for nearly 30 years. He was popular with the inmates. He was tough but fair. Often enough he had a word of encouragement for those who needed it. And sometimes when he was in a good mood he would make some jokes with mocked him every now and then, saying that he was the worst amongst them since he had to spend a lifetime in here.

House looked at the pill in his hand and back at the old guy.

"Thank you.", he said and swallowed it. And this time he meant it.

* * *

Stamford nodded and locked up his cell. House leaned back against the wall and waited for pain relief. He looked at the trey still placed next to him. Something that could be defined as mashed potatoes and the brown flat thing could be some meat. He grabbed the fork and started eating. He was starving now and although it tasted like shit he cleared the trey completely. He put it on the sink and lied down. The pile of bed linen and towels were pushed on the floor. The woolen blanket was folded and supported his leg right now.

He pondered about the first impressions of his new life and sighed. It was an easy equation. 5 years 8 months, 2080 days leap years not included. So long he would stay here. And what would happen during this time was not important. It didn't matter whether he would spend his days in this cell or in some hole downstairs. So he was not afraid of them and their threats and nightsticks. He was used to pain. That was nothing one could fear him with. Plus, his pain killers worked for bruises as well. He was sure they had many ways to punish misbehavior or guys with snappy comments. But he had just lost everything. His job, his friend, his freedom. It was just him right now. His dignity, his pride and his mind. And he would fight for these. But could he win that fight?

Could he take another punishment every time he wouldn't just nod and say "Yes, boss!", "Thank you, boss!", "Go fuck yourself, boss!"?

And what about the other inmates? He was the new kid on the block literally. He was down there on the lowest step possible. Education and knowledge meant nothing in here. It could get you into trouble. Plus he had his physical handicap.

House thought about it for a while and finally he drew a conclusion. They would break him in here. His dad couldn't do it although he put lots of effort into it. But here he would meet his match. All he could do was trying to fight it as long as possible.

* * *

Wilson was still busy with House's personal library. He went through the last pile of books and looked at every one of them. He would be House's best customer. The oncologist had always envied his buddy for his great collection of books. Now there had developed an extra pile for books Wilson would keep himself. It didn't matter whether he paid for them or someone else. House would get his money anyway. Finally he picked up the last book. This time the note was different. It didn't just tell him its price but also here he finally found a note for him. Actually it was the only personal item of House left in the entire apartment.

"Hope is for sissies!", he could read there and chuckled. It was another insult but it was also the proof he needed. He still mattered. Of course House had known that Wilson had believed in a miracle escape from this situation in the end while House had resigned all hope before it could develop.

* * *

The next morning Stamford was not on duty in block C. Officer Hank Weston took over for the dayshift. He was the opposite of his colleague. He was the senior officer in that block and loved the power that came along with it. Unfortunately he lacked the responsibility that came along with that power over the men in here. For him only one thing mattered. He was the boss and everyone had to follow his orders. Contradiction was not accepted in his world.

The block was still quiet. It was half past 5 am. The inmates were woken at 6 am every day. Weston took the time to stroll along the cells making sure everything was in order.

This morning he didn't come far. Third cell on the right on the ground floor kept a new inhabitant. That was not the problem though. But this inmate lied on his bed still completely dressed. On the floor in front of the bed he had distributed his clothes, sheets and towels.

He waved over his colleague.

"Who is this guy?", he asked him.

"Gregory House. Doctor who killed a patient and bought almost 6 years for it.", the guard told his boss.

Weston gave him some orders and told him to hurry. He looked back at the sleeping convict.

"Gonna teach you a lesson, newbie!", he mumbled and went on with his round.

* * *

10 minutes later House startled. Weston had banged his nightstick against the bars.

Confused he looked around. That was not his bed room. He saw the bars and an angry face behind them. Right. He was in jail. Damn!

"What the hell do you think you are doing?", the angry face shouted now.

"I'm sleeping?", House stated the obvious.

"You think we clean your laundry in here for nothing?", he pointed at the pile on the floor.

House leaned over and remembered.

He shrugged. "Must have fallen down."

Weston was furious. That guy showed no respect at all for him. He unlocked the cell and stepped inside. He built up in front of the convict who was still sitting on his bed.

"Must have fallen down???", he yelled and shook his head.

"These sheets are supposed to cover your mattress. Your extra clothes are put on that shelve together with your towels. You're waiting for a cleaning lady or what?"

House rubbed his tired eyes. "Look, it was late last night and I…", Weston cut him off. He had discovered the dirty trey.

"Oh you were late? That's why you ordered room service? No food allowed in the cells! And why are you sleeping in your clothes?"

House had a headache. And this shouting was definitely not improving it. The dirty trey was not even his fault.

"I'm right here. Can you please stop yelling.", he mumbled instead of answering the question.

Weston boiled with rage.

"You want to tell me what I should do? Are you out of your mind? In here I'm your mummy, your daddy, your priest and your boss in other words, I'm God!"

Here he was again in that situation. Time to shut up. Time to apologize and tidy up his place. Time to give in.

"I can see the similarities. You and my dad totally the same. But I'm sorry. I'm an atheist."

Now Weston grinned.

"I'm gonna have fun with you. Your ass is mine and I'm gonna enjoy it to bust it over and over again."

He stepped out of the cell.

* * *

"I take it you have no problem to distribute your stuff on the floor. Very well, enjoy another take out meal.", he said took the trey his colleague had gotten from the kitchen and threw it upside down in House's cell.

He couldn't say what it was but it had the consistency of oatmeal gruel and matched the ugly color of the floor perfectly.

"Now clean this mess up!", Weston told him while he locked the door.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot. Your pill.", he searched his pockets for the Vicodin and brought it out finally. House knew immediately he could kiss that one good bye.

Why was he always right?

Weston grinned when he threw the pill through the bars making sure it landed in the toilet.

"Ups.", Weston exclaimed. "So tell me gimp. What are you gonna do now?"

House starred at him very pissed.

"I'll clean up this mess.", he said.

Weston nodded. "Good. Why?"

House exhaled deeply before he answered. "Because you told me to do it."

"Good boy. And who am I?", Weston really enjoyed this.

"A stupid ass who feels inadequate in the big wide world so he has to get horny by playing the big guy in here.", House thought. But it was his first real day in here and there was no need to make too many enemies at once.

"My boss.", he forced himself to speak out finally.

"Lesson learned.", Weston smirked and vanished.

* * *

House got up and limped over to the toilet. He saw his white friend down there in the water.

Terrific! He picked up the trey with that sticky not identified mass. Could be last night's dinner mixed with this day's coffee. Fortunately the rest of it had only soiled one of his towels and the floor. While he folded his clothes the other inmates were woken up by a loud signal. The cell doors opened and the convicts stepped out. All of them except for one.

To prevent anymore conflicts that morning House just wanted to clean up and didn't care for the noise out in the hallway.

"Hey, you need an extra invitation?", Weston shouted when he saw the gap in the line of prisoners. He hurried over to House's cell.

"Get your ass out of there and on this line!", he shouted.

"You really should distribute some manuals. How am I supposed to know this?", House said when he limped outside.

"Use your brain. I've been told you can do that pretty good!"

The guards made sure no one was missing. Time for breakfast. Again all of them except for one.

"You already got your breakfast.", Weston told him and pushed him back inside. "Finish your spring cleaning!"

A pissed off senior officer in his block, a lost Vicodin and no breakfast. And this was only his first day.

These 5 ½ years would be very long.

* * *

**Leave a review and tell me what you think. :-)**


	8. Chapter 8

While the other inmates left the block for breakfast House cleaned the floor with that already dirty towel and settled back on his bed after he was done. It was totally silent. His leg hurt like hell again and he was hungry. Half an hour later it became loud again. The inmates that were not working came back to the block.

"There are better ways to start your career in here than pissing off Weston.", House heard a voice and looked out to see who was approaching him. It was the guy next door.

"What do you care?", House grunted. "Get away!"

"Just telling you. You are on his black list from now on.", the guy added before he vanished.

5 minutes later his new nemesis showed up again.

"Atta boy!", he said when he saw the cleaned cell. "Got you a gratification.", he said and handed him a pill. This time it didn't end up in the toilet.

"Thank you.", House said and swallowed it immediately.

Weston opened his cell. "Now go and play with the other kids."

* * *

During the next week House's apartment got emptier every day. Finally Wilson made a last walk through all the rooms looking for something he might have overseen. He stood at the door and handed the keys to the landlord. He took the two boxes with House's personal stuff he had saved for his buddy and put them in his car. Wilson looked at house number 221 B the last time. House had already been living here when they had met for the first time. Now it was not the same anymore. The missing orange bike on the pavement in front of the house alone changed everything. It was just an empty place. An entire existence totally cleaned out. Wilson tried to swallow the upcoming lump in his throat and drove home in his pathetic silver Volvo.

House had other problems than mourning his lost apartment. He got used to the daily routine but not without new trouble. Working was a privilege inside the prison walls. Only inmates who behaved well were allowed to work. The others spend most of the day inside the block. During the afternoons they were allowed to go to the yard for an hour.

House spent most of the time inside his cell trying to prevent any contact with the other convicts. He was not interested in their power games. Well he was not interested in participating but his keen sense of observation made it easy for him to discover the system of hierarchy amongst the prisoners.

The easiest way to learn something new was during the time in the yard.

First time he limped outside he just stood there and watched the scene. One group was playing basket ball others lifted weights or played cards. House waited until everyone had settled and looked around. He found an empty bench. It was right next to the small guard's post. But he didn't care. He just wanted to prevent to enter some gang's territory and was not about to deal in drugs or something. So he didn't mind the watchdog right next to him. He limped over there and sat down.

There was some beef developing amongst the basket ball players. One of them thought he had been fouled the others had a different opinion about that matter.

"Here we go.", House whispered and only a moment later they started a fight. Within a second the court was surrounded by cheering and shouting convicts. A fight was always a highlight in here.

A few seconds later a bunch of guards came along and started to chase the convicts away while another bunch of officers separated the wranglers and dragged them back inside.

The inmates went back to their usual stuff.

* * *

"Pondering about another diagnosis, House?", he was suddenly interrupted in his thoughts and looked up. He had expected one of the guards but it was a convict addressing him.

House recognized him immediately. It was Jason the guy that had taken him hostage together with some patients and coworkers only a few months ago. Seemed to be ages away.

Now he was sharing a cage with the man who had threat to kill him. Nice!

"I'm done diagnosing.", he answered. He looked at Jason.

"Still trouble breathing?"

Jason shook his head. "No. You cured me."

"I never got your thank you note.", House mentioned.

"So you came in here to get it?", Jason asked him.

House glared at him now.

"Leave me alone.", he mumbled.

"Oh, come on House. Tell me what happened?"

"There was this guy who annoyed me constantly with his stupid questions so I killed him.", House snapped.

"You are annoying another doctor, Jason?", a guard spoke up behind them.

"Actually I'm the same one he annoyed last year.", House explained.

The guard looked surprised.

"You were in that hostage situation with him?", he wondered.

House nodded.

"And now you are here yourself. Now that's funny.", the custodian laughed.

"Very funny. Maybe you should kill one of us in here and end up as a prisoner in your own block. Find out how funny that is.", House snapped.

"Knock it off, House.", he was told. "Time to go back inside."

* * *

Two days later House got a visitor. It was in the evening after dinner when the inmates had another hour to move around freely inside the block.

House knew the guys were members of the Latino gang as he called them. One of the three guys who entered his cell was a top dog in his group. He brought along two bullies.

"Hey doc. Time for your consultation hour.", he started.

House sat up. He was nervous but not frightened. Yet.

"Sorry. I shut down my praxis. I hear they got an infirmary in here.", he told them.

"Yeah, you can spend the next weeks up there if you want, gimp.", one of his rowdies said.

"No thank you.", House snapped.

"Then shut up and listen.", rowdy 2 said.

Their boss spoke up again.

"There is a rumor saying you got some nice drugs."

House sighed. He knew that would happen sooner or later.

"Ahm, no actually not. Sorry. Thanks for your visit.", House replied.

The guy smirked.

"Interesting. So you don't have a problem with your leg?"

Out of a sudden he grabbed House's thigh and squeezed it with his hand.

House had no time to prepare for the high amount of pain so he just started screaming.

"Shut the fuck up!", the Latino told him without loosening his grip around the leg.

* * *

House stopped yelling but he also grabbed the guy's wrist and pulled the hand from his thigh. Not a good idea. One of the saps grabbed him by his shirt pulled him of the bed and pushed him against the wall. The other one stood by the door making sure that nobody would interrupt their conversation.

House bung his head against the wall.

"You touch him again and you'll lose something, doc!", he threat him.

House grimaced.

"You mean something else but my consciousness? For God's sake take a breath mint."

He earned a punch in his stomach and went down.

"You really have guts, doc.", the boss spoke up now. "I'll send someone to pick up your meds every night after dinner." The three of them vanished. House lied on the ground of his cell and tried to catch his breath. Fortunately the pain in his leg was still overwhelming so he didn't feel his head and stomach.

He coughed a few times and sat up. He felt dizzy.

"What's going on in here?", Stamford asked him. "You alright?"

House nodded. "Tripped over my own feet.", he mumbled and got up.

Stamford nodded and handed him the last Vicodin for the day.

"Good night.", the guard said and left.

House looked at the white pill in his hand.

"What the hell.", he thought and swallowed it. Either he would hand over his pills and be in constant pain or he would take his pills and be in pain because they would beat the shit out of him. But this way he would at least piss them off. So he took option 2. For now.

* * *

Of course they beat the shit out of him. The guy who was sent to pick up his pills the next evening was not pleased when House stood there empty handed. He returned with two of his buddies and after 2 minutes House just wished they would stab him already with some damn shank. He was sprawled on the floor his head between his hands trying to save it as good as possible while he was kicked over and over again.

Apart from some groaning House stayed silent. Finally the gang leader stepped in his cell.

"This is really easy, old man. Hand over your pills or you'll be dead very soon.", he told him.

House chocked and spit out some blood. He rolled onto his back and faced this guy.

"You won't get any drugs if you kill me.", he stuttered.

"Rico!", one of the bullies interrupted. "Weston is on his way over here."

Rico looked at House.

"See you tomorrow night. You better have those pills.", he said and left with his friends.

House rolled on his side again and vomited on the floor. He felt terrible. Every movement hurt like hell. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down.

"You really got a thing with soiling your cell, don't you?", Weston said when he saw the inmate on the floor next to a pad of vomit.

"What happened?"

House didn't move. The mere idea of opening his eyes was too hard.

"Hey, House. Get up and answer me!", Weston ordered him now.

House raised a hand to calm him down.

"Moment please, boss.", he mumbled and pushed himself up as fast as possible. He used his left arm to hold up against the wall. He still felt dizzy but finally he managed to look at the guard.

"Who did this to you?", Weston asked him.

House choked up some blood again but he swallowed it immediately.

"Did what, boss?", he mumbled.

Weston nodded. "Fine. Have it your way. Maybe you can remember after 3 days downstairs."

House groaned. "I didn't do anything!", he complained.

"Right. You didn't tell me who beat you up.", Weston smirked. "Get rid of that vomit. I'll send Peters to get you in 10 minutes."

* * *

House sat down on his bed. He checked his chest for broken ribs. They seemed ok. Just bruises all over him. He looked at his puke on the ground and pondered about this isolation thing. The longer he would be downstairs the better.

When Peters arrived 10 minutes later he had not moved at all.

"Why didn't you clean up this shit?", the guard asked immediately.

"Dinner sucked again today. I thought I'll save you some dessert! You need a spoon or will you lap it up right here?", House explained and smiled.

That did the job. The next 14 days he was out of reach for Rico and his saps.

Unfortunately he also spent the next 14 days in a damn hole. It was cold, dark and absolutely quiet there. In other words it was driving him nuts. For a guy who was in need for a hospital instead of an arrest cell it was the perfect place.

At least his body had a good chance to recover during that time.

When he returned to block C House was ready to deliver his drugs. He didn't want to die in here. And if it meant to live in pain he had to find a way to deal with that.

Unfortunately there came his next problem. Weston.

"Had some fun, House?", he greeted him leaning against his cell.

"Yes boss. Thank you for asking.", he mumbled.

"Got your meds here.", Weston said and held out the pill.

House took it and went into his cell.

"Thank you.", he said again.

Weston starred at him.

"Take it!", he ordered the convict.

"My leg feels fine right now.", House explained.

Weston shook his head.

"Either take it or give it back. The others are haunting you for these. I won't have you distributing drugs in my block!"

House raised his eyebrow.

"They will beat me up.", he admitted.

Weston shrugged.

"Then it's good you are on painkillers.", he smirked. "Now take the damn pill or it's the last one you'll see this week."

House sighed and swallowed the pill.

* * *

Wilson found back into his daily routine. He buried himself in his work. He showed up early because he would wake up in the middle of the night not able to go back to sleep. He worked late because he wasn't keen on spending his evenings at home. He was about to ask Cuddy for a new office. Every time he looked out of the window he saw their balconies.

Every day when he stepped out of the elevator he could see House's former office. Foreman did a good job in his new position. His quota of saved lives didn't reach House's but still he used the skills he had learned from his former boss quite good.

Wilson wanted to get out of that part of the hospital so he went downstairs to talk to Cuddy about it. He stood in the clinic and realized that a change of his office wouldn't make a difference at all. There was too much in here that reminded him of his friend. The cafeteria where he suddenly spend only half the money than he did earlier. The vending machines in the hall ways with House's favorite candies and of course the clinic. Even that jar with red suckers on the nurse's counter could ruin his mood. And every time he picked up some meds from the pharmacy he imagined House there, stealing those damn syringes and starting off that whole damn incident.

He had quit his job after Amber had died. Not just because he had to get away from House but also because that place remembered him of her all the time. But she had been working in that hospital for 10 weeks. House and he had been colleagues for 10 years.

Wilson had come back to work here because of House. Because he had realized that they were still friends. He knew he needed House like House needed him. But now House was gone and he would not return.

Wilson didn't talk to Cuddy that day. He returned to his office and wrote his letter of resignation. There was nothing left for him in the Princeton Plainsboro teaching hospital.

He also thought about writing House a letter but so far he had not found the right words. He had wasted many sheets of paper so far but still he had not worked it out.

* * *

House received his first mail after 3 weeks. It was an official letter from the medical board informing him that his license had been pulled so that he could not work as a doctor any longer. House laughed and shook his head.

"There I was about to open my own clinic next week. Damn it!", he thought, wrapped up the letter and threw it under his bed.

His next mail call came the following week and pleased him more. He looked at the dispatcher. It was just one word and House smirked when he read it. "Partypants."

The envelope had been ripped open by the guards. He found three pictures.

The first one showed his cane. "Miss you!", was written on it.

"Miss you more!", he said softly and chuckled.

The second one showed Wilson. "Misses you, too!", it said on that one.

He sighed. Of course. Another try of Cuddy's couple therapy. Making sure the two made up again.

The last picture showed Cuddy herself.

"Misses you the most!", she had written on that one.

House looked at her for a while. It hurt. He was glad that she still thought about him but it hurt. He missed her and he thought it would be best just to go separate ways forever.

He put the pictures back in the envelope and put it under his towels on the shelf. Out of sight but still there.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Wilson found a new position in New York. He had thought about leaving the East coast completely but he couldn't. He was not done with House yet. Instead of writing a letter that House probably would not even open he decided to visit him.

Every inmate was allowed to get a visitor twice a month. Visiting hours were every Thursday afternoon. In the morning the guards announced the names of those you had a visitor that day. House was surprised when he heard his name coming up after nearly 4 months.

"Who is it?", he asked Weston but he didn't get an answer.

"How would I know? If you're lucky it's your girl."

"I don't want to see anyone.", House told him.

Weston got upset.

"Who cares? You're name is on that list so you're ass is in the visiting room this afternoon."

He was relieved when he didn't see his parents. But he was annoyed when he saw Wilson. House sat down and looked at the table.

"What's with the handcuffs?", Wilson wondered. He looked around. House was the only one wearing those.

"I told them I didn't want any visitor and if it was one certain oncologist I would beat him up. They didn't like the idea.", House explained and concentrated on the desktop again. He didn't meet Wilson's eyes once. He just sat there for the rest of the hour.

Wilson tried to talk to him but it was useless. Finally the guard came back to get House.

"See you in two weeks, House!", Wilson told him.

House looked pissed but kept silent.

* * *

They played that game for a while. Wilson would use every opportunity to visit his friend. House would stay silent all the time. He tried to convince the guards again that he didn't want to go there but they didn't care. "Tell your friend to sod off, man!"

When House was in prison for 7 months he got bored of their stupid game. He wanted to make sure he would miss the next hour with Wilson.

That was very easy in deed. Weston was wandering around the block while the prisoners got ready for the day. House passed him making sure he bumped into him with his left shoulder.

"Hey, watch where you are going, man!", House shouted.

Weston starred at him unbelievingly together with some inmates who had witnessed the incident.

Some shook their heads. This House guy was one of a kind. Sometimes he played by their rules for a few days sometimes he would drive them nuts with his comments. Weston played some tough ones on him but so far he didn't seem impressed or scared.

"What did you say?", Weston asked him now.

"I told you to get out of my way.", House yelled.

Weston pushed him against the wall.

"Oh yeah? You're telling me again what I shall do? You think you are very clever, don't you? I'll make sure I don't bump into you for two weeks. Don't worry, I don't show up in Isolation."

Suddenly Weston grinned.

"You can start this afternoon. Right after you have seen your buddy. Isn't that nice of me, huh?"

House nodded. "Yes, boss. Very nice. Thank you."

He let go of House and slapped him over the back of his head. "Now get out of my sight!"

"Brilliant, Greg!", House thought while he limped back to his cell rubbing his head. Seeing Wilson and two weeks in in isolation. Perfect. And hey, he would be out in time to meet Wilson in two weeks.

* * *

It was the first time House spoke to Wilson that afternoon.

"Every two weeks you force me to come in here. I tell them I don't want to see you but they don't care. Why would they? But you were my friend. You care enough for me to show up here. So do you also care enough to leave me alone? It's a long way from the block over here. My leg is bad enough without these useless visits. If you got a problem with losing people you should see a shrink. Take some more of your anti depressants. But leave me alone. Seriously, Wilson. Get out of my life!"

Wilson thought about it for a while.

"Why would I care? We are not friends anymore, you told me that. I can do whatever I want. At least I don't send you a private inspector to go through your trash. See you in two weeks, House."

He got up and turned around.

"Wilson.", he could him hear behind him so he faced House again and this time their eyes met.

"Please. Please don't come here any longer. I'm limping worse than ever, often enough I show up here with a black eye or a pitched lip. I'm not doing very well in here. Is it that you want to hear? That I'm more miserable in here than I could ever be outside? That they bully and humiliate me for my leg, beat me up because of my meds and punish me every time I risk another big lip? What can I tell you to make you go away? To make sure you realize that I'm not the same anymore. ", Wilson could hear that sad tone again. House had resigned. He was just functioning in here willing to make it through his time. But sooner or later he would probably not care about this anymore.

Wilson sat down again. "Why did you kick me out of your life? I was not even on that board when they fired you and it wouldn't have made a difference you would have ended in here anyway. Why are you angry with me? Tell me and I'll never come back."

House scratched the side of his head. He felt uncomfortable.

"I have to go.", he finally said and left the table.

Wilson watched him. They were not done yet. The more he showed up the better. If it made House angry it was the right thing to do. Anger was good, it would keep him alive.

"See you soon, House.", he mumbled and left.

* * *

Wilson spent the next two weeks at his new working place. He was not the department head in their oncology ward but he didn't care. Saved him lots of paperwork. He still loved his job and spending time with his patients but he also had a life outside the hospital. House had been right again. Screw those damn forms and sheets of papers. Unfortunately he had no Cameron that took care of his mail. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that he might turn into House slowly. But he was far away from that.

House spent the next two weeks down in the hole again. His daily routine included 24 hours of doing nothing only interrupted by three short breaks when a guard would open the slot hand him his meal and a Vicodin and would shut it again.

It was during those two weeks when House made a decision. He was done with this. It was time to change his strategy. It was time to find a job in here. It would help him to keep his mind sane. 23 hours in his cell every day was too much. Work would mean deflection.

Problem was; he had to convince his guards and especially Weston that he could be in deed a good boy.

Apparently he was not the only one who thought it would be a good idea for him to work.

He was back in the block for two days when Rico spent him another visit.

"I told you I'd be back, doc.", he greeted him.

"I don't have any meds. The guards watch me taking them.", House explained.

"Yeah, I know this. But you can do us a favor anyway. You should start to behave yourself. Stop pissing off Weston all the time."

House raised his eyebrow.

"You are in worry about me? That's so nice of you."

"Shut up. You'll start working in the infirmary. Then it won't be only 4 pills a day.", Rico explained.

"If I steal meds I stay in here much longer.", House objected.

"Right. You and not me.", Rico chuckled.

House shook his head.

"You'll have to keep on beating me up. I won't do it.

* * *

Nevertheless House was a good prisoner during the next weeks. Weston provoked him many times but House kept calmly and politely all the time. The senior officer would yell at him, insult him and punish him for every little shit. He wanted to make sure House was serious this time. Sometimes House hit his fist against the wall in his dark cell to blow his stack. Weston observed him very sharply. There was not a single complaint or incident concerning House. Finally he stood in his cell one evening.

"Annual health check is coming up next week. Dr. Norfolk could need some help. You got the job, doc.", he told him.

House nodded.

"It's good to see that you have finally learned to blend in, House. Keep it up and you can work in the infirmary permanently."

"Thank you, boss.", he mumbled and leaned back satisfied.

* * *

So his daily routine changed. After breakfast he would spend his time over at the infirmary treating sniffels, flesh wounds and other stuff. It reminded him of his former clinic duties. Unfortunately he wasn't forced to show up by his sexy boss but the guards.

Dr. Norfolk took advantage of his skilled coworker and developed a certain laziness. He knew House was better than him so he didn't have to watch every single move. Still House had no chance to steal anything. The meds were off-limits in a cabinet with a really big lock. Plus there was always at least one guard around. But he didn't care. He would never steal meds because it would extend his stay in there for a few more years.

House had fun treating the other convicts. It was amazing what he could find out about their medical history just by looking at them. There was the guy who had a mild case of polio as a kid and had probably forgotten about it. Herpes, hep c and many other diseases were written all over them. House recognized it immediately. He didn't need to see their forearms to say who was on drugs. And so it got easier for him to follow the rules since he knew they would take away this job if he screwed up again.

"Hey, House. Is it possible that you haven't seen the hole for an entire month?", Weston asked him once when he brought him back to the block in the evening.

House smirked. "Could be true, boss. I don't count my days in here."

"Make sure it stays that way.", the guard said satisfied.

* * *

At the end of his first year House had found a way to deal with his time in here. Some of the guys still tried to "convince" him to help them out with meds. Every time he just clenched his teeth waited until they were done and licked his wounds for a couple of days. He developed another business though. There were many inmates who were glad they could work but a day off every now and then suited them just fine. So House opened a different practice. They would come and see him and he would tell them what symptoms to list when they saw Dr. Norfolk. He was the only one who could sign them off work. House also knew how to fake certain symptoms like a coated tongue. Most of the time he did the physicals himself and told Dr. Norfolk his diagnosis. He trusted House and signed them off.

He was paid in cigarettes or little favors. So his rank amongst the convicts improved. The cigarettes he exchanged for other stuff.

Sometimes the guards wondered why House was suddenly surrounded by other inmates on his bench. But when they approached the group he would just explain them something about medicine, telling them about his work as a doctor until the guard was out of earshot and House would go on with the really interesting stuff.

* * *

Wilson had finally given up on the visits. He had realized that this was not the right way to reach House. Now he sent House a parcel once a month. It always included some medical journal or book and a note. Wilson didn't expect an answer but he hoped for it anyway. But House never wrote him back. He was grateful for the books though since it could get really boring and the prison library held not many books he was interested in.

The day he could celebrate his first anniversary he received another letter from Cuddy.

"Lucky devil!", Stamford smirked when he threw it through the bars. House opened it and found a new picture and a note.

"A little something to improve your mood for the next 365 days!", it said. House looked at the picture and gasped for air.

It was Cuddy in the nudes. He smiled. That woman was just incredible. He looked again and shook his head. It didn't make him horny or something but he liked it. She was still there. She had not forgotten him. And she could still play on his standard.

* * *

A month later all his attempts were in danger once more. There was another fight in the yard. The yard was closed down. The convicts had to lie down. One of the still fighting guys pulled a shank and stabbed his enemy in the throat. He was pulled down by the guards just a moment later while the injured guy fell down as well. House was lying 10 feet away and had observed the scene. He got up immediately to help the kid. He was about 20 years old and bullied all the time. House had seen him around the yard trying to blend in. Now he was lying on the floor his eyes shocked while he bled like hell.

"House, get down!", the guards shouted but he didn't care. He would certainly not watch this kid die out here. He kneed down beside him and got his shirt. The carotid artery had bought it. He pressed his shirt against it and glanced at the guard who came closer.

"He needs to go to the infirmary immediately. We have to clamp his artery.", he told him but the guy didn't care. He grabbed House's arm and tried to pull him away. House got furious. He tried to help here. This time he lost his temper. He turned around and pushed the officer hard in the chest. The guard stepped back tripped over another convict and fell down. House didn't care and bent down again to help the kid.

Took them only half a minute to press him on the ground to cuff his hands and drag him away. He got a good beat up out of this as well before he disappeared in the hole for a month. The kid bled to death on the yard in time before Dr. Norfolk arrived.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

House lied on his thin mattress the blanket wrapped around him. His left eye was totally swollen. He couldn't open it for a few days. Nothing to see down here anyway. It was useless. They had sent him here because he had killed a guy. But what about that damn guard? House could have saved the kid. Now he was dead because that stupid watchdog had to show his power once more.

After his 30 days he was just glad to be out.

"Never ever assault an officer again!", Peters told him when he escorted him back to the block.

House nodded. He never wanted to assault him in the first place. He even found the guy the same afternoon in the yard and apologized.

"Don't let it happen again!", he was told.

"Yes, boss.", came it automatically.

The guard nodded.

"Well I think you learned your lesson out of this, right?"

"Yes, boss."

Sure he had learned his lesson. There was not the slightest bit of justice in here. A convict could bleed to death and nobody cared. An officer tripped and fell down probably scraped his palm and he bought a month. He got beaten up for it. That's the fucking lesson he had learned.

* * *

Weston was not done with him this time. Nobody touched a guard in his block. House being in the hole for a month was not good enough for the senior officer. Once again he wanted to teach him a lesson. The next evening when they were locked in for the night he showed up at House's cell.

"Get up and step forward, House.", he ordered him.

House obeyed but did not know what to expect.

"Give me your hand.", Weston went on.

"Why? What are you doing?", House wanted to know.

"Just give me your hand and shut up!", the guard yelled.

House sighed. This couldn't be good. But he had no choice. He reached out his arm through the bars. Weston cuffed it and fixed chained him to the bar.

"Good night!", Weston smirked and went back to the guard's station.

House looked at his hand. That fucking bastard.

He couldn't reach his bed. Sitting down on the floor was not an option, too. The crossbar didn't allow it to get his arm down far enough. Hunkering down might have worked if it hadn't been for his leg. He would spend the night standing in the corner of his cell.

That night was pure torture for him. His right leg hurt anyway but his left leg had to put all the weight. A few hours later it started cramping. House knew he had to do something about it. He looked at his bed again. If he couldn't go to the bed the bed had to come to him. He stretched out as far as possible and finally he reached the bed frame. He pulled it over as far as possible and finally he could sit down. He stretched out both his legs. His thigh was burning and his left knee was shaking. This release didn't hold on very long though. Weston had heard the scratching noise and came over a few minutes later.

"Oh, you're cheating, doc. That's not nice of you.", he released the bar and opened the cell. House stepped back against the opposite wall immediately. Weston pushed the bed back against the wall and went outside. Once he had closed the cell he looked at House.

"Come back here!"

House was desperate.

"Please, boss. Let me sit down.", he begged him.

Weston laughed.

"Just get over here, House!", he told him.

House couldn't. He knew this would mean more hours of pain.

"I got it. I won't touch another guard. I never wanted to do it. I just wanted to help that kid. I'm sorry, boss."

Weston enjoyed this. House was afraid and horrified already. For him that was pure fun.

"Sure you won't touch another guard. But I don't care. Get your ass over here or I'll come in and get it myself."

House shook his head. "Please.", he mumbled once more but he knew it was a lost try. When Weston got out his nightstick and was about to open the cell again he finally gave in. Slowly like a poor dog that had been beaten before and knew it was in for another round he made his way back to the bars. He stretched out the hand which still held the handcuff. Weston grabbed it.

"And now the other one please.", he grinned. House closed his eyes and shook his head. He just heard how the handcuff closed around his right wrist as well.

"See you tomorrow.", Weston said and vanished.

Now he was really screwed. He couldn't even turn around this time. It was one of the longest nights House ever had in prison and his right leg was stiff for nearly a week afterwards.

* * *

Pretty soon House could also learn what difference there was between the guards and the prisoners. The following month they were on the yard again. He had just exchanged 10 cigarettes for a set of poker cards when some uproar started on the other side. Another fight took place and the guards were already interfering. House laid down face down.

A few moments later he could hear them shouting his name. He looked up.

"Get over here!", they yelled at him.

Carefully he got up. He expected them to drag him down once more but nothing happened.

"Get your fucking ass over here!", Peters shouted. He started limping. When he arrived at the scene he saw Fox on the floor. It was one of the guards; he was wounded. One of the convicts had stabbed him twice in the stomach. The guard couldn't breath.

"Do something!", Weston shouted at House. He just stood there and thought about the irony of this. Oh sure, that's a guard. Come let's save his life while we let the convicts die in the same situation.

Finally he kneed down and checked the officer's breathing. He ripped open the shirt and saw the stab wounds in the belly. It was strange. The lungs were not stabbed but still he had trouble breathing. Where was a stethoscope if he needed one?

He wasted another shirt and told Weston to press it on the wound while he carefully checked the chest. There it was; a broken rib that had probably pierced the lung. Air was building up between the lung and chest so the lung had collapsed.

"He needs a chest tube.", House explained.

"A what?", Weston asked him.

House didn't answer. He shoved Weston's hands away and looked at the wound again. It was small. The shank would come in handy right now.

"Who did this?", he asked the guards that surrounded him. "I need that weapon."

The guards looked confused at each other.

"You can either hand me that weapon or you can kiss your colleague good bye!", he yelled.

"Give it to him!", Weston decided while he still tried to stop the bleeding.

* * *

House took the piece of metal. It looked like a thin knitting needle. He looked at Weston who was still kneeing next to him. Without asking he grabbed the pen from his chest pocket. He uncapped it and got rid of the interior. He pushed the needle through it. It fit.

The guards watched him suspiciously. When he was about to stab the chest Peters interfered and grabbed his wrist.

"What are you doing?", he yelled.

"Saving his life. You want to drag me away while another person dies? Please go ahead.", he snapped.

"You better know what you are doing here, doc.", Weston mumbled.

Peters let go of him and a moment later House had carefully pierced the chest making sure he would not reach the lung. He pulled out the metal piece. The pen stayed in the chest and the air could leave. House checked the breathing again. It improved immediately.

"Get him in a hospital immediately.", he said while he held the pen.

While the guards cleared the yard House and Weston stayed with him until the paramedics arrived. They looked amazed when they saw the convict who had obviously just performed a tube thoracostomy with a pen. They took care for the guard and House stepped back.

Weston looked at him.

"Time to start working in the infirmary again, House.", he said and gave him back the bloodied shirt.

House looked at it and his blood stained t-shirt. "Time to give me some new clothes.", he mumbled and went back inside.

* * *

The guards were grateful for House's help. The young guard had to spend a few days in hospital but would recover completely. The prison warden thanked him personally. House didn't give a crap. But he was promised a favor so he thought it over.

"You got a piano in this place?", he finally asked.

The prison warden looked astonished. A piano?

"We got one down in block B", he told him. It was the block with the minor criminals. They were allowed to spend their time in different courses including a music class.

"How about an hour every week?", House asked him now.

The other man nodded. "It's a deal."

* * *

It was an old piano totally different from his beloved piece he had back home but he didn't care.

The guard watching him sat down with a newspaper while he limped over and sat down on the piano bench. Carefully he touched the keys. It was even tuned properly. He had not played for nearly three years but this was just like riding a bike. He would never forget how to play the piano. It became the highlight of his week. Every Wednesday afternoon when all the others were in the yard he was playing the piano.

He closed his eyes and smiled. It was the only hour every week when he could remember how it felt to be a free man. It took him 5 minutes to get his old touch back. The guard put his newspaper down and watched him. He had never seen the old gimp more satisfied.

* * *

Wilson had not seen House for 1 1/2 years when he returned to Trenton the next time. He had been sending him books and stuff but they had no contact at all. He was nervous when he entered the visiting room this time. House sat already there. Wilson sighed. House looked old. He was still too thin but at least he showed no injuries this time.

"How are you doing?", the oncologist greeted him.

"I'm doing ok.", House mumbled. At least he spoke this time. "How are you?"

This question surprised Wilson.

"Ahm, I'm fine. Thanks."

House nodded. "Good for you."

Silence built up. House rubbed his fingers over the tabletop as if he tried to remove some smudge.

"I need help.", Wilson finally spoke up.

House chuckled.

"From me? What could that be?"

"I got that patient. 12 year old boy…", he paused.

House closed his eyes and shook his head.

* * *

"Don't do this, Wilson.", he mumbled.

"But you could help me. You could help this kid. Just look at the file please."

"Is this even a real case? Or did you just come up with that one to make me feel better? I don't need pity.", House told him.

He glanced at the closed file though. During the last two years he had treated flesh wounds and colds. Could he still play the big game?

Wilson observed him. He knew House had already snapped the bait. It was a real case. One of his cancer patients had developed strange symptoms he couldn't explain.

"Give it to Foreman.", House told him finally.

Wilson shook his head.

"Foreman is not at the hospital."

"Foreman left?", House wondered.

"No, he didn't."

House raised his eyebrow.

"You left."

"I got a better offer. You would know that if you ever had answered my letters.", Wilson explained.

"Better than head of oncology back at the PPTH? I wonder where that might be.", House smirked.

They got silent again.

"So what are you doing all day long?", Wilson asked eventually.

"Getting tattoos, doing drugs the usual prison shit, what else?"

Wilson looked annoyed. House glanced at the table again and continued with his rubbing.

"I work in the infirmary. They found out I'm pretty good with the piano so I teach some guys how to play. And there is that guy who keeps sending me interesting books. I like reading them."

Wilson smiled. House's way of saying thank you.

* * *

"I got my parole hearing coming up in two months.", House added and looked up.

"That's great. Make sure you don't screw it up."

"Nah. Already done that. They will never let me out. It's not important anyway. At least I got a job in here."

"Oh come, House. That's ridiculous. What job might that be? Treating your buddies' hep C?"

House starred at him. He looked sad. That hurt him. Of course he was not a big shot doctor anymore like Wilson. But the oncologist had no idea how hard it had been for House to achieve the few amenities he had found himself in here.

"So that's what you think of me? I'm pathetic right? Because I'm glad to be able to work in a damn prison infirmary. But still you show up here with your damn case because once more you have no idea. I haven't seen the inside of a hospital in 3 years and still you come here for advice. Now that's just poor, Wilson."

"That's not what I meant. But if you can get out of here you should take that chance. I could help you.", Wilson regretted his last words immediately.

"I don't need your damn help!", House shouted. "I never have and I never will. When will you finally get this?"

One of the guards came over and told him to shut up.

"Sorry, boss!", House answered immediately in a calm and subservient tone.

* * *

Wordless he grabbed the file on the table and opened it. He browsed the pages with his trained eyes to get all the information he would need.

Wilson was relieved and observed him pleased.

Finally House shut the file.

"I have no idea.", he announced.

"But what about his raised Glutamine level? It might be…", House cut him off.

"I don't even know what the average Glutamine level is nowadays. Sorry."

Time was over. Wilson watched House as he followed the other inmates back to their block.

* * *

The same afternoon House sat in his cell and pondered about Wilson's visit.

Of course he knew the average level of probably any hormone, enzyme and anything else you could find in the human body. Wilson. House shook his head. The oncologist still thought in a way only mathematicians would think when he should think like a diagnostician. Wilson had just taken all the symptoms and substracted everything that could be explained by the cancer. Now he couldn't find an explanation for the remaining problems. House had showed him hundreds of times that this was not the right way to diagnose.

His brain was working. He didn't know the answer immediately. House would have told Wilson otherwise. He would not risk a patient's life to prove a point. Not anymore.

A loud bang made him startle and brought him out of his thoughts. Why did they always have to do that? Guards and their stupid nightsticks.

"We would be ready for dinner, Mr. House. But one of our inmates keeps us waiting. Would you be so kind to step out, Sir?", Weston said in a sarcastic tone. He had the similar attitude concerning dinner times like his father.

"What?", House asked him. He was confused. He had blanked everything out around him.

"So I take it you are not hungry. I'll spare you the way.", the guard added and closed his cell.

House didn't care.

"Thank you, boss.", he said automatically and watched the inmates leave.

* * *

Stamford approached his cell 5 minutes later.

"What have you done now, House?", he wondered. He had seen this often enough. Weston and House were like cats and dogs. Unfortunately House always got the short end of the stick.

"Nothing. Like always.", House smirked. "We are all innocent, aren't we? The bad guys are actually the good guys and...", House stopped suddenly. The good glutamine was indeed the bad guy here. He did it. He had found an answer. Problem was Wilson was out of reach. A letter would need days and the next visit was two weeks away if Wilson showed ever up here again.

He looked at Stamford.

"Could you do me a favor, boss?", he asked him.

The old man raised an eyebrow. House jumped up. He got a sheet of paper and a pen. He looked for Wilson's last parcel and wrote down his address.

"New York?", he wondered. "What is he doing in New York?"

He added his diagnosis and faced Stamford again.

He was sure the guard would let him down.

"Call that guy and tell him this.", House said.

Stamford shook his head.

"You know I can't do that."

House nodded. "I know but this is important. He's a doctor looking for a diagnosis."

"And he asked you for a consult?", Stamford wondered.

"It's a long story. Please. I'll never ask you again."

The guard checked his watch. "Dinner is not over for 10 minutes. Tell me."

"Tell you what, boss?"

"Your story."

* * *

House sunk his head for a moment. He knew Stamford didn't mock him right now but this was ridiculous.

"I was the head of diagnostics he was the head of oncology. I solved the cases no one else could he fought his desperate fight to save people from cancer. Now he treats a 12 year old boy who will die and asked me for help."

He pointed at the note in his hand.

"This is the diagnosis."

Stamford looked surprised.

"And you figured it out in here?"

House nodded.

Stamford took the note and put it in his pocket.

"I take credit for this saved life.", he smirked. "This has never happened!", he told House.

"Thank you, Sir.", House said respectfully.

Stamford looked at him for a moment. "What a waste.", the old man thought.

"He's lucky to have such a friend, isn't he?", Stamford finally said.

House caught the hint.

"Yes, Sir. He is."

He lied down. It felt good. Not because he had just figured out another case or solved a puzzle. He had saved a life. A young boy would live because of him.

The following week he received a letter from Wilson. It was just one line.

"Good to know you are still there. Thank you, House."

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**I was in a writing mood today so I put up another chapter. **

* * *

4 weeks later House got himself in trouble. Weston played harder on the prisoners than ever before. His mood sucked constantly and he would always find a way to leave it out on one of them. House was still amongst his favorites. One day he carried his trey to one of the tables when he tripped. His leg kept mocking him lately. It was winter. Cold and wet. That always screwed up his thigh.

The trey fell down and he distributed his lunch all over the floor. Part of it landed on Weston's shoes.

House's head went down. "I'm sorry, boss.", he said immediately. "I'll clean it up right away."

Weston looked at his feet and back at the convict.

"God damn it, House. I've had it with you. It's bad enough to watch you limping all day. Don't rub your crippled leg into our faces all the time."

House nodded.

"Now clean this up.", Weston told him.

"I'll go get a cloth.", he mumbled and turned around.

"Why would you? You have a shirt, don't you? Here you can start with my shoes."

There was total silence in the canteen. Everyone was observing the scene.

* * *

House had been in prison for 2 years 9 months and 8 days. He had learned to play by their rules. He didn't follow them all the time but altogether he had become a good boy. But he was tired of it. No matter what he did that asshole would always find a way to screw him. Not his behavior decided anymore only Weston's mood. That was so unfair. So why obey him all the time? The next insult or punishment would wait around the corner already.

"What's wrong with you lately, Weston? Your wife finally found out that you cheated on her and gave her herpes? Probably the clap as well. Don't leave it out on me all the time. Find yourself a condom and a goddamn hooker. Norfolk will give you some blue pills as well."

Weston looked around. He starred at the inmates and at his colleagues. They all had seen and heard this. They all knew that House was some sort of medical genius. Whatever he diagnosed was true. Or faked by himself when it came to his little business. Without another thought he drew his stick and punched House in the stomach. He couldn't breathe for half a minute.

Weston grabbed him and dragged him out of the canteen. Pure anger made him beat that convict over and over again. Two of his colleagues finally interfered.

"Stop it now. He has enough!", they told him. Weston looked at House. He lied on the floor and groaned. This had cost him at least 2 ribs. He could hardly breathe.

"Put him in the hole.", Weston ordered his subordinates.

House didn't care. Just a place to lie down. That was all he wanted.

That night he cried for the first time in prison.

* * *

He had no idea how long he had been down there in the hole. The pain in his ribs got better every day so it must have been a while. House had found three broken ribs finally. After a while he was convinced they would leave him down there. Forget him and throw away the key.

But finally they remembered him.

"Time to get up, House.", Weston told him. "Guess who has his parole hearing today."

House smirked. Yeah, his chances of getting out were pretty big right now.

"Don't worry. I'll come with you. Somebody has to tell them about your behavior in here."

He threw him one of his clean shirts and a wet cloth.

"Get in shape. We are in a hurry.", he grinned.

House startled. He looked like shit. He had not changed his clothes in probably 4 weeks. He had not taken a shower and his last shave had been a while.

"I'm filthy. I can't show up there like this.", he said.

"Think about it the next time you piss me off. You got three minutes."

House got out of his shirt and the t-shirt as well. It had been white once when he had put it on. He washed his face and the upper part of his body. He had lost weight again. The isolation cell diet was not really healthy.

He dressed in the clean shirt and stepped out of the dark cell. Daylight. He had not seen that in a while. It took him a moment to get used to it.

* * *

The parole hearing took place in the gym. House sat down on a chair. 5 persons he had never seen before sat opposite him. They went through his file and talked about the crime that brought him here in the first place. House felt ridiculous. He looked like a dipshit. His hands were once more handcuffed.

"Mr. House. Do you regret your crime?", one of the suits addressed him now.

What a dumb question.

He shrugged. "I think so, yes. The guy is still dead, right. So I still regret it."

House was overextended with the entire situation.

"Do you think you are ready to rejoin society?", he was asked next.

House chuckled. He was tired.

"I was ready to stay in society 3 years ago. But then you stuck me in here. One cannot be further away from society than in here. I haven't used a cane in three years although I'm a damn cripple. I was beaten up countless times and stuck into a damn hole for weeks. Everything we learn about living in a society from the very beginning is worth shit in here. Whatever I was supposed to learn in prison it was not really helpful concerning that matter. But who cares? Even if I get ever out I won't rejoin society. Your great justice system will take care of that. I will never return in my job but I'm pretty sure employers are waiting for a 50 year old cripple with a record who had his license pulled and can't do anything else but saving lives."

He paused and looked at Weston. He would not give that ass the pleasure of turning him in. He would finish the job himself.

"Do what you want. I don't care anymore. One day you'll have to let me go and then I can walk out of here head held high because you won't have broken my will."

It was a quick decision. Better luck next time. See you next year.

* * *

Weston got him back to block C.

"Good show, House. Very entertaining.", he smirked. "Now go grab a shower. You stink like a billy goat."

But a moment later he held him back. He made sure no one else was around.

"How would you know about, you know…", he asked him.

"It's written all over your face. Doctors know how to read these things. Plus you developed the habit of playing with your wedding ring lately. Probably because you think about not wearing it any longer but you are not ready yet."

"You are one clever son of a bitch, aren't you doc?", Weston said.

House just shrugged.

"And yet you were stupid enough to screw that hearing up.", he chuckled.

House shook his head.

"No, I was stupid enough to come here in the first place.", he whispered sadly.

Suddenly Weston smiled at him.

"Come on, get in shape. I spend you an hour with your piano."

House looked surprised and skeptically. What was he up to now?

Weston recognized his skepticism and distrust.

"No seriously man. I think you could need a drink now but since we don't serve alcohol in here I go with the next best."

It didn't convince House but he had no choice anyway. All the more he was surprised when nothing happened.

* * *

After he had taken a shower and got dressed in clean clothes he enjoyed an hour with the piano. When he returned to his cell finally he found some envelopes. His mail from the past 4 weeks.

Cuddy told him in really rough tone to get his ass out of there.

"Shut up for once. Tell them what they want to hear and get this over with!", he could read.

Too late for that.

Wilson had written him as well. He told him about the boy whose cancer treatment finally worked so he would recover completely. And he sent his good luck wishes as well.

House had thought about Wilson a lot during the past weeks. He had treated him unfair from the very beginning. He had been aware of that all the time. When Wilson had left him after Amber's death House was depressed and angry. He had loved the way they had rebuilt their friendship back then. But when he had lost control over his own life three years earlier he had suddenly understood how Wilson must have felt. Wilson had cared about him for so long and had been disappointed over and over again. Finally the oncologist had done what he had to do. Protecting himself for once in his life to prevent getting hurt again.

House had screwed up his life but it had been easier to be angry at Wilson instead of himself. And pushing Wilson out of his life had been the best solution for him back then. This time House had tried to spare his friend more disappointments because it had hurt him to watch Wilson's desperate tries to pick up the pieces. But Wilson had not been willing to let him go. He wasn't until that day.

For the first time House sat down and wrote his friend a letter. Telling him exactly those thoughts. Telling him that they had a great time together but that their ways through live had separated years ago and that they finally had to accept this. For the first time House thought about his future after prison. He didn't like what he saw but he knew it would not include Wilson or Cuddy.

Wilson read the letter and got miserable. He read it again but didn't like it any better. He knew their relationship had been instable lately but he had thought he would be on a good way. Maybe it was time to give it up. Perhaps House had been right. If he still cared about House and considered him a friend it was time to let him go. Maybe now it was time to leave this part of the US completely. Move away and forward at the same time. Trying to forget. Trying to work out a way to forget.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

House got back to his daily life. He worked in the infirmary, got his piano hours every week and found a new student. Fox, the guy he had saved a year ago asked him to show him how to play. So he spent two evenings every week in the music room. For this the young guard overheard House's next consultation hour in the yard. He took him aside in the evening though.

"Be careful what you tell these guys about medicine. They might use it to get off work", he told him with a wink.

House nodded. "Never thought about this. Thank you for clearing that up."

Even Weston took it easier with him. He had found a fish who needed all his attention. While House had been an old stager who knew when to withdraw this guy had trouble constantly.

"Never thought this would happen", Weston addressed him in the yard once. "But this guy is a bigger pain in the neck than you."

House smirked.

"Maybe you should see it as a challenge. Tell me when you get tired of him and I mock you about your type two diabetes in public."

Weston starred at him surprised. But something had changed between them. It was more of a hate-love nowadays.

"Remember your parole hearing next month. Since I got a new pet now I won't mind seeing you walking out of here."

"I'll send you a cake, boss", House chuckled.

"Since you know about my diabetes and I don't even want to know how, it could be seen as an attempted murder. You want to come back here?"

House sighed. "No, I don't think so. It's time to get out of here."

* * *

House knew what they expected him to say. And he knew how to deliver it even if he didn't mean a word of it. Sure he was ready to rejoin society. He was eager on getting back in real life. Blablabla.

And yes, he regretted it. He was still sorry because those things one carries around for life. The only honest words he had for them.

So he made it. He got his parole this time because he had convinced that five suits in the gym that he had been successfully rehabilitated. How and when this had happened he would never know.

So he stood in that little room again. Felt like decades ago when he had arrived here. House had not seen the red tie for nearly 4 years. He had not thought about Wilson at all during the past few months. But when he saw the tie he had once received as a good luck charm he felt a slight pain in his chest. He got changed and took his wallet. His 4.34 Dollars were still there. Hurray.

And there was his cane. That was strange.

"A woman delivered it last week. Said you better make it out of here this time", the guard told him.

He got some money for the work he had done in the infirmary as well.

This was it. He stood in front of the prison. No idea where to go. Just a card from his parole officer he had to contact within 24 hours.

"Ok, Greg. Here we go", he thought and left. Convinced that he would never show up at this place again.

* * *

House had no idea where to go. He glanced at the card in his hand. Maybe that guy could help him. He took his bag and went to the nearby bus station. Last time he had been on a bus it had bars in front of the windows but at least ha had gotten a free ride back then. This time he paid the fare. No need to go back to prison because of a simple bus ticket.

He found the office and was relieved when he found it open.

Mr. Frank Chambers made it pretty clear to him that he didn't give a shit about him and that he wouldn't hesitate for a second to send him back to prison if he screwed up his chance.

That was his style. Being the tough dude, making clear that he was serious and leaving no doubt about who was in charge. House nodded through the entire monologue wondering if he had already screwed it up. This man would be his new Weston. He had power over him. He could send him back to prison. Unless Weston though he had not the luxury of watching a bunch of prisoners in their cages. House was on a long leash now. They would not monitor his every step from now on.

"I read your file this morning. You were a troublemaker. Do you plan to keep this up?" , Chambers asked him now.

"No, Sir", House mumbled his eyes glued to the floor. He had learned that subservient behavior long ago.

"Alright, here are the rules. Feel free to move around freely in New Jersey. Don't leave the state not even for a second. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I found you a job. Nothing special but it will pay your bills. Don't miss a single day. If you are sick or something call me immediately. I don't want to hear any complaints from your boss. I also got you a place to stay. But you don't have to stay there. Tell me immediately about every change of address. If I just for a second don't know where I can find you every cop in Trenton will be on your ass. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir", he said again this time in an discouraged tone.

"You got any friends or family in this area?"

House shook his head.

"Be honest with me, House", Chambers warned him.

"My parents live in California."

"Well I hope they can still travel. If they want to see their boy they'll have to come here."

"It's not a problem, Sir. I have no intentions to see them."

"What about friends? An old girlfriend maybe?"

Again House shook his head.

"There is nobody."

"Ok. We need to fill in some forms. I take it you can read so do it yourself. But I will check all your information."

Chambers handed him some sheets and vanished to get himself some coffee.

An hour later House was ready to leave. He had a key for his new home plus the card of his future employee. He had to show up there two days later.

At the end of their appointment Chambers showed his soft side for a moment.

"I've had many customers so far, House. But you are one of the promising candidates. I have a good feeling about you. Don't disappoint me", he told him.

"I'll do my best, Sir", House answered and left.

* * *

His new place was not in the best part of Trenton. He stood in his little apartment still his key in the hand. They had given him a key. It was just a key for his filthy apartment but for House it was so much more. It was at least a little bit of power back in his hands. Control that he had not had in such a long time. He had nothing left but the suit he wore, a bag full of books and about 300 dollars but for the first time in years House felt some hope.

Wilson groaned when his phone woke him up. He had been dozing on his couch for an hour. He worked too much. He knew it but he didn't change anything about it. Finally he answered.

"This is James Wilson."

"Sorry Dr. Wilson for calling you this late. I just wanted to inform you. Greg House left the prison this morning."

Wilson sat up.

"You are that guard, aren't you? The guy who called me last year."

Silence.

"Why do you tell me this?", Wilson asked him after a while.

"You needed his help back then. Now he needs yours I think", Stamford told him.

"House would never take my help."

"I just thought you want to know about your friend", he added and hung up.

"Friend….", Wilson mumbled and lied down again. But he couldn't sleep. He got up and went downstairs in the basement. There they were. Those two boxes holding House's stuff. Suddenly they became important again. Maybe he should search House but where would he start?

* * *

The next day House went grocery shopping. Slowly he moved around in his new world. No need to hurry. He strolled around the aisles and looked at the food he had not had in a long time. But finally he ended up with his usual. Bread, peanut butter and canned soup. In opposite to the prison food it was a delicacy. Next stop was a second hand store. He needed some clothes. He found some jeans, t-shirts and a pair of sneakers. That had to do for a while.

The next morning he showed up half an hour early at his new working place. Just in case to make sure he would arrive on time. He didn't live far away. It was a little gas station with a drug store in the worst part of Trenton. It was open around the clock and many people showed up during the night when they ran out of booze or cigarettes.

Bill Harper owned his enterprise for more than 20 years. Everyone around knew him and he knew everyone in the quarter. Some of his customers hang around the place just to have a chat or some company.

Now he mustered his new employee.

"What's with the cane?" was his first question.

"Crippled leg. But it's not a problem", House mumbled.

Harper nodded. "Good. You'll clean up in here and refill empty shelves. Can you read?"

House smirked for a second.

"Yes, I can read."

"What about counting? Any problems with numbers?"

"Only when they are printed on my clothes", House told him.

"Well, be a good boy and you won't have those anymore. Mr. Chambers told me you weren't in for theft or robbery so I'll trust you with the cash. I don't have to tell you what happens if I miss a single cent one night."

"I won't steal anything, Sir", House told him.

"Fine. You'll work here 6 days a week. I'll keep you in the day shift for a while so I have an eye on you. Don't be late. Now go find a bucket and clean the floor."

House nodded and started his work.

* * *

He kept his head down. Whatever Harper told him to do he did it. 8 hours a day he spent there. He didn't mind. Kept him busy.

His boss observed him. That guy seemed to be cleverer than he pretended. He didn't know what House had done in his earlier life and he didn't care.

When House was off the clock he often walked around the city. After his time in jail he was not keen on spending his time in his little apartment. Sometimes he could be found in the library. He was tired of all the medical stuff and switched from history to technology and some other categories. He just skipped the literature sector. He was not in need for fake stories.

After a few months House adopted a male cat. First he chased him away but the cat returned all the time waiting in front of his door when he came home. Finally he let it in. House decided it was the perfect company. Not in need for attention like a dog. He just lived his life minded his own business and chose House's place to spend the nights and sometimes the day. Just like House himself. Plus he didn't cost him much.

Larry and Bill had been friends for decades. The old guy showed up at the gas station every day. He didn't like House.

"Another one of those criminals who takes advantage of your benevolence", he told Bill while he watched House cleaning the windows.

"He did his stretch and so far he behaves well", Bill explained.

"No,no. It's always the same. He'll do it again. Always the same stories with those guys."

House didn't care. He knew his rank within society. He was the guy with the criminal record, so what?

* * *

Ever since he had returned from Vietnam Larry had problems with his back. He had been shot and never recovered completely. On bad days he could hardly get up. One day he sat in his usual spot and complained about the recent administration like always. He groaned when he bent over to pick up his wallet.

"Maybe you want to try some exercises for your back", House said.

"Maybe you want to shut up", Larry snapped.

House shrugged and kept on with his work.

"What do you know about that stuff, Greg?", Bill asked him.

"I know a little bit about medicine", House mumbled.

Bill was interested now. House had been working in his store for 6 months now but still he didn't know anything about him.

"What did you do in your old life?", his boss asked him now.

House kept silent. His old life had been over long ago. No need to rip open old wounds.

"Come on, tell us. We'll find out anyway."

"I was a doctor", House told them finally.

"A good one?", Larry asked him.

He nodded. "I solved some cases."

"And you know about backs?"

House chuckled.

"A little, yeah."

"Where did you work?", Harper wanted to know.

House thought about it. He liked Harper. He was a good and fair boss. Harper always made sure House had not to carry the heavy stuff. And he trusted House. He let him work alone in the store after four days although he had planned to watch him for a while. So why not trust him a little bit, too?

"I worked over in Princeton Plainsboro. My specialty was not the back but I know that stuff."

"Ok", Bill mumbled. They were done with their interrogation.

* * *

But the topic came up again the next day.

"You know a little bit about medicine?", Bill smirked when he arrived at his station to take over for the night. Larry accompanied him.

House looked confused.

"We looked you up on the internet. You were a pretty big fish in your business, right? Why didn't you tell us?"

House shrugged. "It's not a part of my life anymore."

"But it could be. Do you know how many people in this area haven't seen a doctor because they can't even afford the bus ride to the hospital? You are a diagnostic genius. You could help these people."

"I can't work as a doctor", House objected. "No license, no prescription pad."

"But still you can help. Start with Larry here. Show him these exercises."

House didn't mind. His job was not really challenging so he could use some change.

A few days later House felt like a member of doctors without borders. News traveled fast around the quarter and many people showed up to see the smart guy who could help them. He didn't treat any medical mysteries but he had some good advice for many minor diseases.

Not always easy without medical equipment. Some of his patients wanted to pay him for his service. First he refused to take it but finally Bill put up a tip box in his name. Ever since House opened his practice Harper had way more customers at the gas station as well. House used that money to get some bandages, disinfectant and other stuff he could use. Sometimes that was not enough.

"I told you to keep it dry", he told Steve when he saw the infected ankle for the third time in two weeks. Steve was a mason who had an accident at the construction site. But since he had no insurance and a family to support he kept on working instead of seeing a doctor. Walking around in his construction boots with his infected ankle all day long was not really improving the healing.

"Next thing we know you'll have a sepsis.", House told him and drained the wound. Puss showed up immediately. House sighed and put a clean bandage around it.

"Come back this evening", he told the mason. He emptied his tip box.

"I need the day off, Bill", he told his boss. Harper gave him a nod so he left.


	13. Chapter 13

**Where are my manners? Thanks to DIY sheep for your help! :-)**

* * *

House stood in front of the PPTH and took a deep breath. Last time he had left he had promised himself to keep away from that place for the rest of his live.

"Even if a bus hits me right in front of it, I'll have them driving me over to Princeton General.", he had told himself back then. But that was years ago. Now he didn't care. No anger or pity built up inside him. He entered the clinic. Nothing had changed here. Suddenly he wondered if his former department was still in action.

A quick view on the chart in the hall told him the answer. Foreman was still head of diagnostics. Obviously the neurologist had been worth his effort.

He turned right and steered towards Cuddy's office. He got nervous. He hadn't seen her in years. Cuddy was busy with some files. He watched her through the glass door for a moment. He had stood there so many times in the past. But that was in a different life. Finally he entered.

She looked up from her paperwork surprised. She was not used to people entering without knocking. Not anymore.

She stared at him for a while. Finally she smiled. Cuddy got up and approached him.

"What took you so long?", she asked and hugged him.

House let it happen.

"I wanted to spare me the embarrassment. You know how long it took me to be able to look at that picture without having an orgasm", he smirked.

Cuddy chuckled. "Drastic situations call for drastic measures."

They sat down on her couch.

"How are you doing, House?", she asked him.

"I'm doing ok", he told her. He was not in the mood for that personal stuff.

"I need your help", he said next.

* * *

Cuddy eyeballed him. He had gotten old but he still looked good. His clothes looked worn off but he still had his old coat. She'd always liked that one. Suited him.

She had never expected him to come here to ask for help.

"Of course. What do you need?"

"Antibiotics", he mumbled.

Cuddy sighed. So that's what she was now. That's why he came here. He was looking for a new drug connection.

"Are you out of your mind?", she spoke up.

"What?"

"You show up here after 5 years, after you got fired because you stole drugs from our pharmacy and now you ask me for meds? Didn't you learn anything at all?"

House rolled his eyes.

"I didn't ask you for Vicodin, just some antibiotics to treat an infection."

"So go to the clinic. See a doctor and get a prescription. That's how this works."

"It's not for me. Forget it. Sorry", he said in a sad voice.

He got up but she followed him.

"Show me", she told him.

"Show you what?"

"Show me the reason why you came here to ask for help."

* * *

House stared at her. Maybe it was not such a bad idea. Right now she saw in him the still drug seeking jerk who got his license pulled and sucked in his new life and was about to get into trouble once more.

"Ok. But we have to take your car.", he smirked.

She took her coat and followed him out.

"You want to say hi to your old department?", she asked him pointing to the elevators.

He shook his head.

"No. It's ok."

She understood and regretted her question immediately.

They drove back to Trenton.

"Welcome to my new world", House said when he saw Cuddy's confused expression.

He left the car and stepped inside the store.

"Who's that hot chick, Greg?", Bill asked him right away.

Cuddy blushed.

"Shut up, Bill", House chuckled. He turned to Cuddy.

"Sorry. My boss hasn't seen a woman in ages."

Cuddy smiled. "So you are in charge of him now?", she said and took Harper's hand.

"Is he a good boy?"

Bill smirked. "Oh sure. Like a lamb."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows and looked at him. "Is that so?"

House chuckled. "Hey, you couldn't threat me with sending me back to prison."

Cuddy looked around. "So this is where you work now?"

House shrugged.

"That's where he works and does his magical healing", Larry joined the conversation.

Cuddy looked surprised.

"You do what? House", she yelled.

"He is the new doc on the block", Larry told her.

Cuddy was annoyed. "You can't do that, House!"

House looked sadly.

"See, this is what took me so long. You don't know anything about me. Not anymore. That's why the only reason that brought me back is this buddy of mine who could lose his foot due to a simple infection that could be treated easily. But he can't afford the meds and prefers to go to work so his children can have dinner tonight and some heating."

House stormed out of the store. Why did he even think about asking Cuddy? He knew she wouldn't understand him.

* * *

"Who are you?", Bill asked her now.

"I was his boss. He worked at my hospital", she told the two guys.

"Was he really that good?", Larry wanted to know.

She nodded.

"So why would you doubt him? He's just trying to help these people."

Bill interrupted him.

"Listen lady, I'm not a doctor so I don't know all those smart words. But I do know that he doesn't do anything stupid around here. The guy is on parole. You really think I am going to watch him ruin his life again? He's not distributing drugs or something. Greg does his job and every now and then he helps some people from the neighborhood."

"You don't know what I know about him. You don't know him the way I do", Cuddy objected.

"I don't have to. I see what he does now. And I like what I can see", he pointed out of the window.

Cuddy turned around. House sat outside together with a young lady. He took a look at the woman's baby. The kid didn't seem to be too happy when House examined its back. A few moments later he handed the baby back to the mother and got his notepad. He wrote something down and gave the woman the sheet of paper. She looked relieved and happy. House smiled at her and watched her leaving with her kid.

"Isn't that terrific? He refuels your car and takes care for your health at the same moment", Larry chuckled.

* * *

Cuddy stepped out and sat down next to him.

"What's wrong with the kid?", she asked him.

"Rash on the back. It's not serious but pretty itchy. I wrote her down the name of a lotion she can get in every drugstore. Way cheaper than the pharmacy."

"You'll ruin the pharmaceutical companies", she joked.

"They deserve it. It's the same stuff but you pay twice as much because of the label."

"But it doesn't work with antibiotics, does it? Finding cheaper ones in drugstore."

He shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

She grabbed her purse and brought out her prescription pad.

"What do you need?", she asked him.

He smiled.

"So that's it? I convinced you?", he wondered. "You should have told me earlier. I would have treated one child a day to get out of clinic duty."

"I know you. Maybe not as good as five years ago but still I know you, Gregory House. You'll find him those pills no matter what it'll cost you. I don't want it to cost you another two years of your life."

"Tetracycline will do the job", he mumbled and she wrote him his prescription.

"You need some money for those meds?"

"No. Thank you."

For a while they just sat there surrounded by gas pumps. Cuddy had so many questions but she knew he didn't want to talk about the past. She wanted to know about his new life but probably that topic was off limits, too.

"Have you spoken to Wilson lately?", she finally tried.

"No."

"House, I just think…. I don't know. I just want to know, are you alright? Do you need help? Is there anything I can do? So much has happened and we never talked about it", she stuttered. This situation confused her and she felt uncomfortable.

"I am alright. It's not my dream job but I can pay my bills. Don't worry, Cuddy. If I had a problem with it I would change my life."

He smiled at her. She still was worried maybe she still felt guilty. Although she had never done anything wrong.

"Well, I better go inside. Missed enough time of my shift today", he finally said and got up.

"Take care, House. You know you have a friend back in Princeton. If you need anything just give me a call, ok? And don't forget your friend in New York."

* * *

He watched her as she left the gas station. Finally he returned to his work. Steve showed up an hour later. House handed over the prescription and some money.

"Take those meds or you'll lose your foot", he warned him.

House went back to his daily routine. Everything seemed to be fine. Mr. Chambers showed up every now and then and exchanged some words with Harper. House's practice was closed on those days. No need to let him know about his part time job.

In the evenings he thought about Wilson more and more often. He missed his old friend. He had treated him wrong from the very beginning and he had been aware of that all the time. It took him a while though to feel guilty about it. Now he wanted to see Wilson. Talk to him and find out what was left of their relationship. Problem was, he was out of money and he had to stay in New Jersey. And New York City was not a part of that state.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

**So here we go. Last chapter. Thanks guys for all your nice reviews. Thanks again to DIY sheep. :-)**

* * *

Two weeks later House was bored during his night shift. Larry stepped in at half past 1.

"Bill, isn't here", House greeted him.

"I know. I came to see you", Larry told him.

"Another corn on your left foot? Those things are nasty, aren't they?"

"Don't get fresh, boy!", Larry warned him. "Get me some coffee."

House poured him a cup while Larry took a seat.

"So, what can I do for you?"

"I just came to thank you. You really saved my back. I love those exercises!"

"And you came here in the middle of the night to tell me that?", House wondered.

"Too many people around during the day. I won't tell it in public and you don't want to hear it then, right?"

House chuckled and nodded. The old man emptied his cup and left 5 minutes later.

"See you tomorrow, Greg."

House watched him for a moment walking down the street. He was about to return to his magazine when two guys approached Larry. First they just talked but then they got violent.

House grabbed his cane and hurried out.

* * *

"Hey!", he shouted as he walked towards them. "Leave him alone!"

"Oh watch it, pal. Here comes the cripple police", one of them laughed.

They let go of Larry and came towards him.

"What do you want, gimp?", the other yelled.

House was angry but he tried it peacefully once more.

"Nothing has happened so far. Just get out of here."

"Now I'm pissing my pants", they laughed.

One of them tried to grab House by his shirt but he shoved away the hand. A moment later his fist broke the guy's nose.

His buddy punched House in the face. He stumbled backwards but stayed on his feet. He raised his cane and punched the guy in the stomach. But the guy was not done, yet. He tried it again. House got another punch out of it. Hello black eye. Finally he kicked his elbow in the guy's face and he joined his buddy on the ground.

The cops who arrived at that moment had not seen how the two guys had attacked Larry or how House had tried to prevent a fight. They just saw a guy with a cane and two persons on the ground.

"Drop that cane and get your hands behind your back", one of the officers ordered him. House didn't even try to explain the situation. He just obeyed. He starred at the cop who pointed his gun at him.

The other cop inspected the guys on the floor. They were well known to the police.

"You are all under arrest", he informed the three of them.

His colleague pushed House against the police car and searched him. He cuffed his hands and put him in the car.

"Call Bill and stay in the store until he arrives, please", House told Larry. Those were the only words he spoke.

Larry still tried to explain the situation but the cops were still busy taking prisoners.

* * *

Half an hour later House sat on a chair in the precinct. The cop checked his personal data in the computer.

"Uh oh, someone is on parole here", he announced.

House just shrugged. He had already done the math. Two years. They would lock him up for two more years. He had just tried to help and this time nobody had died. It was not fair. Life had screwed him up once more. Maybe he was lucky and Weston had left the prison.

He ended up in the cell together with his two attackers and some other guys. The little bench was already occupied so he sat down on the floor in a corner.

Mr. Chambers showed up at 8 am. He looked inside the cell. House had buried his head between his pulled up knees.

Chambers sighed.

"This is exactly the place I don't want to see you in, Greg", he said. His client looked up at him.

"It was not my….", he paused. "I'm sorry, Sir."

A cop came and opened up the cell.

"Let's go, Greg", his parole officer told him.

House was surprised. He followed him to the counter where he got his stuff back.

"Those two youngsters are well known for theft and robbery. Larry explained what happened. Next time you stay out of it and call the police. Got it?"

He nodded. Sure, he would watch those punks beating up a friend while he waited for the cops. Great idea!

Chambers drove him back to the gas station. Larry and Bill were glad to see him.

"Hey, you are back! Larry told me what happened. Don't worry, everything is fine."

He got him some crushed ice for his eye.

"Go home and get some sleep", his boss told him.

* * *

On his next free day House planned to go to New York. He knew he had to stay within the state but who cared? It would just be one day and how big where the chances that a cops asked him for his ID wondering if he might screw up his parole?

He had enough money for a train ticket to New York and he left his home early in the morning. House wore his suit again together with a dark gray shirt. He put his pills in the pocket and felt his old tie. He smiled. Wilson had given it to him so long ago when he had been in trouble. Everything had worked out back then. Hopefully it would also this time.

Three hours later he arrived at Grand Central Station in Manhattan. It had been a while since he had been in New York and usually he would have gotten on a cap. Confused he tried to find the right bus. It took him a while.

Wilson on the other hand had no trouble at all. He never drove his car in New York and he didn't mind using public transportation. Right now the oncologist was on his way to work. House had found the right bus line but another problem showed up. Somewhere between Trenton and New York he had lost his last 10 dollar. He pondered about this for a moment. But finally he decided to trust his luck once more and got on the bus anyway.

Wilson saw him immediately. He sat in the back when House got in. First he thought it was a hallucination. House took a seat and glanced out of the window. Wilson could imagine House's destination but he wanted to be sure. So he just observed him. His plan was foiled when two ticket inspectors showed up at the next station.

* * *

They made their way through the bus coming closer to House. Wilson could see his buddy was getting very nervous.

"That son of a bitch", Wilson thought. He got his own ticket out of his wallet and got up.

One of the inspectors approached House now.

"May I see your ticket, Sir?"

Of course. Why would he be lucky for once in his life? Now he would end up in prison again. They would ask for his ID find out about his parole and Chambers would be happy to fill in the paperwork.

"Excuse me, Sir?", the inspector came again.

"There you are", Wilson spoke up and sat down next to him.

"I told you to wait for me. Almost missed the bus. Anyway, here's your ticket." He shoved it into House's hand.

"You know this man?", the guy asked him now.

"Sure. Since he has some trouble with his leg I got our tickets."

"Can I see them?"

"Of course", House mumbled and handed it over. He got it back a moment later while Wilson searched his pockets.

"That's impossible. I had it a minute ago. Damn it, I must have lost it", he finally admitted.

"Sir, I fear you have to pay a fine. I need your personal details."

Wilson handed over his ID and the inspector wrote a report.

They got off the bus at the next station. House had been silent the entire time. Now he looked at Wilson. "Thank you.", he said. Wilson could tell he felt embarrassed.

"You're welcome. But here's some advice. Next time you leave the state illegally, buy a ticket."

"Right.", House mumbled.

"So where are you going?", Wilson asked him now.

"New York General hospital."

"What are you doing there?"

House smirked for a moment.

"I wanted to see a friend."

Wilson smiled. Finally.

* * *

"Well, I get bad news for you. He won't show up at work today."

House looked surprised. "I thought you were on your way there."

Wilson nodded. "Yeah. But then this buddy of mine showed up and I had to buy him lunch. I haven't done this in years."

"Hey you just got a 50 bucks ticket because of me.", he mumbled, ashamed.

"So what?"

"50 bucks is lot of money.", House explained.

"Yes. You are right. But still, I have to show you that place where they sell top Reuben's. Come on, my treat."

* * *

They had a nice lunch together. House was relieved that Wilson was still talking to him. The oncologist knew how to handle this. He didn't mention the past at all. He knew House would do this himself sooner or later. Instead he told House how he ended up in New York and House told his friend about his new life.

"Come on. I have to show you something.", Wilson finally told him.

They took a cap back to Wilson's place.

"Nice.", House said when they entered the building. "You should see the pit hole I live in."

They entered Wilson's apartment and went into the living room. House stopped immediately. That was not possible. There in the corner of the room stood his beloved piano. He just starred at it for nearly a minute.

"Wilson.", he finally whispered his eyes still on the instrument.

"What?"

"I didn't forge your signature."

"I know, House", Wilson said.

House went over and ran his hand over the piano. He still couldn't believe it. It was in perfect shape. Finally he sat down and opened the lid.

"Did you learn how to play?", he asked Wilson.

"No. I wouldn't dare touching your holy keys."

House started to play. "I told you to sell it."

Wilson shrugged.

"I did. I made you a very good price."

"Damn it. I should have let you sell my bike as well. So it's yours now. You can play it", House told him.

"Forget it. I got some of your stuff downstairs. Come on, I give you a ride back home."

They got the two boxes in Wilson's car and drove back to Trenton.

* * *

"I miss New Jersey sometimes", Wilson mumbled while they drove through the countryside.

"I hear Trenton has some hospitals", House explained.

"You hate Trenton, House."

"It's ok once you get to know it", House admitted.

"You think I should come back?", Wilson asked him now.

House shrugged.

"Your job in New York sucks anyway. Nobody wants to work under Dr. Bilmer."

"How would you know that?", Wilson wondered.

"Hello! I was a doctor for a while. Bilmer had been there forever. No way he would leave. Plus it would be nice to have the piano closer to my place."

They arrived at House's apartment. Wilson got the tour around the place. He startled when suddenly a cat jumped of the bed.

House chuckled. "See, I can't leave this place. I can't move with Jimmy. So you have to come here."

"You got a cat named Jimmy?", Wilson wondered.

House grinned. "He reminded me of you. One day he brought home a mouse but instead of eating it he took care of its broken paw."

"Very funny."

While House fed his pet Wilson got his wallet.

"I got something for you", he told his buddy and handed over a folded paper. House looked at it. It was an old paper and looked like it had been in that wallet for years. It was the bailout check. Wilson had never cashed it.

House shook his head. "I can't take it. It's your money."

"I don't want it. So burn it or use it. You bailed me out once in New Orleans and I returned the favor. We are even."

House looked at the check in his hand and then back at Wilson.

"No. We are not even. We'll never be. I owe you. And I don't deserve you."

Out of a sudden House stepped forward and hugged him. Not because he just got 30,000 dollars but because Wilson had always been there for him. He had never given up on him. Even in times House had told himself that Wilson was not a part of his life anymore and when he had pushed the oncologist out of his life. But Wilson had stuck with him because he had no choice. These two men were bound to each other for the rest of their lives.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Oh my God. They brainwashed you in jail. Seriously man, that's very nice of you to say. But don't tell me ever again. I'm just glad I got you back."

House let go of him. "Sorry. I don't know what got over me. Now buy me some dinner."

Wilson chuckled. "Welcome back, House. By the way, that check isn't worth a single cent. I put it in a new account for you."

* * *

EPILOGUE

Six months later

At the end of his shift Greg tidied up his stuff. Ever since Wilson had moved to Trenton his little practice had been better supplied. Wilson obviously used more bandages, tongue depressors and other stuff than anyone else during their clinic hours but nobody cared.

And in the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital certain doctors of the diagnostic department, the ER and even a certain surgeon prescribed more drugs than needed sometimes so Cuddy could fill another bag and deliver it to the gas station once a month. No serious stuff. Antibiotics, some minor painkillers or cough medicine. House wanted to pay for it but Cuddy waved away.

"The evil pharmaceutical companies can take care for it.", she told him.

Cuddy was happy to have him back in her life. She would visit him every now and then. Sometimes he invited her for dinner because he felt ashamed of getting all the drugs from her.

Slowly he started to open up to her. But he never mentioned his time in prison with a single word. They had developed a beautiful friendship and both of them were satisfied with it. Cuddy loved the fact that he still had his great sense of humor and could make her laugh. She was glad that he was living his life and seemed to be satisfied with it. He had reduced his Vicodin consume as well because they were expensive and because after nearly four years with four pills a day his body had gotten used to that dosage.

Now his boss approached him.

"I put a little bonus on your paycheck. You've been doing a good job lately."

"Thank you", he answered and took the envelope. He got some beer from the fridge and put 5 bucks on the counter but Harper stuffed in his tip box.

"Forget it. Have a nice evening."

"See you tomorrow, Bill", House said and left.

* * *

It was a beautiful day. Colored leaves showed him that fall wasn't far away but it was still warm. He took the bus across the city and walked the last steps down to the river. Half an hour later Wilson sat down next to him on the bench. "You are late.", House told him and gave him a beer.

"Sorry, dying patient. And my paperwork took forever", Wilson explained.

"Oh poor doctor. You should experience the problems of the working classes for a while."

Wilson chuckled. "Actually, I was late because I had to go to three stores to find your favorite sandwich", he handed him a brown bag.

"See, I work at the source. We never run out of beer", House explained.

"Because you always refill the fridge in time. House: the employee of the year! But I brought us a special treat today", he said and showed House a bottle of fine Scotch.

"What's the reason? You getting married again?", House wondered.

"You should know it better than me. Your parole expired today. Congratulations. You are officially a free man again."

House looked confused. "Hmm. Totally forgot."

Wilson looked surprised. "How could you forget this?"

House chuckled. "Don't worry. My parole officer reminded me this morning. Feels good."

* * *

They enjoyed their dinner and watched the river for a while. Sun set down and gave them a wonderful scenery. It was like in earlier times. At that moment they could have been still the two department heads sitting on their balconies out of their offices. But things had changed for the two men on the bench.

The younger one was "just" an oncologist in Trenton who skipped his clinic hours every time he could and was annoyed about too much paperwork. And the elder one, the smarter one worked at a little gas station and used his medical skills to help people there.

A hurricane had shattered House's life completely and it had taken him long enough to form a new life. He had lost many things and he didn't live the perfect life but still he was satisfied. Their friendship had survived and there was nothing more important for him. Same went for Wilson. Sometimes he would glance at his friend and think about it for a moment. House had lost so much. He had taken a trip to hell and back but he had still his genius and his dignity. They could never take away those from him.

House pondered about it every now and then. His life was not shattered to pieces anymore like the bottles he had broken all those years ago. He had picked up the pieces and glued them back together. There was still visible damage and it would never be the same but it was ok.

Yes, his obsession had killed a patient. He was still guilty for a death. But he had also saved a life back in prison when the young guard was about to die. And now he was helping people every day when they asked for his advice. People that couldn't afford a trip to the doctor. So maybe Peter Elliot had not died for nothing.

House looked at his friend right next to him and smirked.

"Did I ever tell you about the picture Cuddy sent me once?"

THE END.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


End file.
